SAVING PRINCE KILLIAN
by Commandante Theresa
Summary: CS AU. When Princess Emma's romantic dream of marrying Prince Killian finally comes true, she discovers they are married in name only. He has fallen into a life of vice & debauchery, infatuated with his mistress, the infamous, manipulative courtesan Milah. Only True Love can save him from darkness & Milah's evil influence to become the noble Prince he was meant to be.
1. Prologue

SAVING PRINCE KILLIAN

**_What can you do when your dreams come true, but it's not quite like you planned_**_?_

_Prologue_

_Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little princess named Emma. Like many young girls, she dreamed that one day she would meet a handsome prince. He would fall in love with her, marry her, and they would live happily ever after. They would tirelessly work together to care for and improve the lives of their subjects, especially the poor, meek, and humble. Everyone would love them, and songs and poems would be composed to celebrate their devotion to their people and their abiding love for each other._

_One day, not long after the advent of her first womanly time, Emma was running and playing in the forest with her two younger brothers and some of the pageboys. She had surreptitiously dressed in her brother's clothes for comfort and ease of motion and snuck away from her governess for the afternoon to play a shrieking game of knights and bandits, hiding behind trees, splashing through streams, and rolling in the dirt and leaves. Her golden hair was mashed into messy braided pigtails and she wore a laborer's cap to keep it out of her way. Still gawky and undeveloped, she __unmistakably__ resembled a skinny, dirty boy._

_As she was racing away from one of her pursuers pretending to be a fearsome bandit, she ran headlong into a tall young man of about twenty practicing with his bow on the castle's archery ground, knocking him off balance as she fell headlong into the dust at his feet. Knocked momentarily breathless by the fall, she lay there for a moment, panting and embarrassed by her faux pas. She'd be in trouble for sure._

_Although caught off guard, he'd quickly recovered his balance and now stood over the dirty urchin. "Are you hurt?" he asked kindly. He reached down with a strong hand and pulled the boy to his feet._

_Gratefully, Emma accepted his hand and scrambled upright. Looking down, she began dusting the dirt away from her formerly white linen shirt. "Oh God, I'm going to be in such trouble," she wailed, "I'm so very sorry, sir, please forgive me! I never meant to…"_

_As she apologized, she raised her eyes to his face and beheld him for the first time. Her jaw dropped and she felt gobsmacked, rendered even more breathless than when she'd hit the dirt. He was so beautiful! He had dark, thick, almost black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. He had full lips that were smiling at her with mild amusement__,__ and he bore a small scar on his right cheek. But it was his eyes that most __captivated__ her – a clear, dazzling blue she felt could look right through her. She was suddenly conscious of his nearness, the heat from his strong body, and the hands that gripped her shoulders. She felt an unfamiliar, not unpleasant tingling that began somewhere between her legs and rose up, quivering into her belly._

_Realizing that the clumsy lad was unhurt, he breathed a relieved sigh. "That's all right," he said, more amused than angry, "just try to look where you're going next time, lad." He gave the boy a playful cuff on the ear, accidentally knocking his cap. _

_"__You're a girl!" he exclaimed, finally noting the long __pigtail, and__ the delicacy of features beneath the dirt on her face. Otherwise, she was indistinguishable from the other lads larking about. "Who might you be?" His voice was friendly, though, and his face was warm and open.__]_

_Deciding to make the best of a bad situation, Emma drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster – which wasn't much under the circumstances, admittedly – and said, "I am Princess Emma, daughter of the Queen and Prince David. I thank you for your kindness sir__. M__ay I ask your name?"_

_"__I am Killian, Prince of Albion and Duke of Ravenswood," he bowed gallantly. I am here with my brother, the Crown Prince Liam to pay our respects to your parents."_

_She just stood there, still struggling with the unfamiliar sensations he had awakened in her and unsure what to say next. _

_"__I am very pleased to meet you sir, and you are very welcome here," she said, remembering her manners at last, "only, please, can you not tell anyone else about what happened? I'm supposed to be doing my lessons and…." Her last words tumbled out in a rush._

_Smiling, he touched a long finger to his nose and nodded solemnly. "Don't worry, I'll say nothing. It seems only a short time ago I was doing the same thing! Now run along and play."_

_Emma ran off again, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Killian resumed his practice with the bow, the girl forgotten moments later._

_That night, Emma hid herself on one of the balconies overlooking the castle ballroom and peered through the filigreed railings to the dancing, colorful crowd below. She was too young to attend as she was not sixteen and would not "come out" into society for another three years. She saw her parents chatting with another young, __unfamiliar man__, richly dressed. He must be Crown Prince Liam. Although she did not know it then, one of the purposes of his visit was to speak with her parents about Emma's hand in marriage when she came of age. The alliance would be advantageous for both their realms_

_But she had eyes for one person only: Prince Killian. She watched him as he danced gracefully and flirted with the court ladies and conversed seriously with the gentlemen. She noted his happy, open smile and warmth towards others. And she __observed the__ court ladies __watching__ him as covetously as she did, each vying for the favor of his attention or a place on his dance card. His manners were excellent, his countenance noble, and he was dressed sumptuously but elegantly in black and grey silk, his cravat white and gleaming in the candlelight. He was the very beau ideal of the Prince of her every fantasy. _

_As she watched him, she felt that pleasant tingling sensation first experienced earlier in the day. Finally put to bed after a scolding by her governess, she dreamed of him all night, and in her dreams the tingling sensation began to kindle into a burning flame._

_In the morning, she awakened to the sounds of people murmuring and horse hooves clopping. Looking out of her window into the early morning mist, she saw Crown Prince Liam along with some of his retainers. Then her heart skipped a beat. Prince Killian cantered up from the area of the stables, looking magnificent in his riding attire on a large, spirited black horse. Then the entire company departed the castle and headed toward the High Road._

_That morning, Emma made a resolution. She knew with total conviction that Killian was the Prince of her dreams and the man intended by Destiny itself to be her True Love. _

_And she was determined that come hell or high water, he would be hers._

_For five years she continued to dream of him__, stoutly resisting__ the entreaties and courtship of many, many suitors, including Killian's brother Liam. Her parents, unwilling to compel her into a political marriage, had urged her to marry for love, but began to despair when she turned up her nose at a number of fine young __men, mainly sons__ of their closest friends and allies. Finally, Emma __had __told them the truth. __She had__ fallen in love with Prince Killian when she was thirteen and she would have him or no one. She __had __argued with much merit that the match would be advantageous for both kingdoms and that since the current King, William, already wanted her for his son and heir Liam, he should be equally happy for her to marry the younger._

_"__Darling, I'm afraid it's not that easy," her mother, Queen Snow sighed, running a loving hand over Emma's hair as they sat talking one morning in the solarium. "It would be an insult to turn down the elder son and heir for the capricious reason that you prefer the younger on the basis of a chance meeting when you were but a girl! And besides, you hardly know him."_

_Emma stuck out her bottom lip just as Snow used to when she was young. "You told me you fell in love with Papa the moment you saw him and look how happy you are! Should I settle for any less?"_

_"__Emma, be realistic," Snow told her daughter gently. "You know nothing about this man, much less whether he could return your feelings. And, besides, while Liam is well known as a good, honorable man who will make a very fine King one day, I'm afraid that may not be the case with the younger brother."_

_"__Why, what do you mean by that?" Emma demanded, surprised._

_"__Well, there are….rumors…that he has turned very wild. That he has fallen into bad company and spends too much time on his pleasures rather than his duties." She phrased it delicately and left it at that._

_"__I don't believe it," __Emma said__, remembering the young man's warm smile and open, honest countenance. "If he is high-spirited, so much the better. I'm more than a match for __him__. All he needs is the right woman to help him settle down and find his purpose."_

_Another two years had passed after that conversation. Emma had persisted with her stubborn insistence that she would marry no one but him. Snow and David just sighed._

_But her stubbornness turned to outright anger at her parents when she learned that during those intervening years, Liam had married another Princess and then, a year after the marriage, had died heroically, but tragically, during an ambush. He left no heirs and Killian had now assumed the title of Crown Prince._

_"__Why didn't you tell me!" she had demanded, furious and frustrated. "Surely his father would be happy for an alliance with us still? Why don't you __propose that I marry__ Prince Killian? Would they not welcome such an offer still? He's not married or engaged yet, is he?"_

_They had been sitting in David's study on two armchairs before the fire, companionably sipping tea. __David hesitated before answering. "We didn't tell you because we were worried. We don't think he is the man that __we want__ for our only daughter."_

_"__Why ever __not?" she asked__, amazed. "Isn't he the heir now?"_

_"__When we met him here five years ago, I'll admit we were deeply impressed with him," David explained to the unhappy girl. "But since that time, his mother died from a terrible wasting disease, and his father the king became so despondent he withdrew into his library and practically never comes out. Before his death, Liam had his hands full running the kingdom and fighting off the incursions of the Northern barbarians who have repeatedly attacked his land."_

_When she heard David's words, she set down her cup with an angry clatter, stood up and began striding up and down and pulling impatiently at her hair._

_"__What's the problem, then? I'd think they would welcome our assistance, and it sounds like Killian is all alone and in dreadful need of support," she asked._

_David regarded her, unsure how much to disclose. "The young man performed __honorably and __even heroically in battle and in service to his realm for several years__,__ and was quite popular. But the tragedies with his family have altered him, leaving him bereft and without adequate guidance. I'm afraid he fell into very bad company. He spent more and more time drinking, gambling and wenching with other dissolute young nobles of his kingdom. He shows little interest in the suffering of his own people and is entirely consumed by his own selfish pleasures. I couldn't let you marry a man like that! He'd make you miserable."_

_Emma was shaken. How could such a fine young man go bad so quickly? What evil influences could he have fallen prey to? It was more obvious to her than ever before that he needed her; that she__ alone__ could save him from his own dark impulses._

_Eventually, however, a delegation had come from King William of Albion requesting the hand of Princess Emma for the Crown Prince. Unable to keep the news from her, David and Snow had at last given in to her unyielding demands to accept Killian. She argued that the very fact of the proposal was evidence that the Prince had realized the error of his ways and sought a virtuous and noble Princess to fulfill his duties to the realm._

_Weary of their daughter's unhappiness, her parents gave in at last and agreed to the match despite their serious misgivings__,__ and it was decided that Emma would journey with her ladies and a small company of guards to Albion where the wedding would take place._

_At the last minute, her parents had been unable to accompany her. Snow was pregnant again and having a difficult time. At the same time, some border ogres had been mounting raids into the kingdom and David was needed to lead a band of knights to the rescue of besieged townspeople._

_Emma bid her parents and brothers a sad but hopeful farewell, vowing to visit them in the new year. "Don't worry about me," she told them confidently, "He's all that I have ever wanted, and I know I can make him happy."_

_Bidding her an equally loving good-bye, David and Snow knew no such thing, for they had heard since the engagement was announced an even more troubling rumor. They had heard that Prince Killian was hopelessly in love with the infamous courtesan Milah, Countess of Chartwell, former wife of the Dark One. Supposedly he was a total slave to his older, more experienced mistress, and she had both distracted him from his family tragedies and encouraged his descent into vice and debauchery._

_They could only hope that Emma had been right, and that the proposal was a sign that Killian had turned away from Milah and his evil ways._

_It was a vain hope._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was finally happening. Today, Emma's dreams would all come true. She was going to be married to her handsome Prince at long last.

The capitol city was festooned with bright flags and banners as the royal carriage carrying the bride rolled through it. Her face heavily veiled as was the custom, she rattled along with her heart nearly bursting with joy. After many years, her dreams were to come true and she was impatient. Emma had arrived in Albion and stayed in traditional seclusion in a nearby royal residence used to house the Dowager Queen, when there was one. She had not even laid eyes on her handsome prince, to her great disappointment.

But today – and even more so tonight – that would all change. Her lips curved in a secret smile and she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her passionately with his sweet, full lips, and gazing adoringly into her eyes. She was a little apprehensive about what came next but based on the sensations he awakened in her when she thought of him and her own mother's reassurances about the act of love, she fully expected to be the happiest and most sated of women on her wedding night.

At the splendid Cathedral, her groom awaited in a small anteroom off of the Nave, pacing about like a caged animal. He was anything but joyous. In fact, all he felt was a mix of helpless fury and resentment at finding himself thus trapped. His father had finally been forced to emerge from his cocoon of grief and mourning barricaded in his library as word of his son's irresponsible and scandalous conduct had invaded even that redoubt. The king's chief ministers had summoned their courage and advised their king that something had to be done about Killian, his negligence and bad behavior, and most especially his scandalous liaison with the Countess. It could spell the downfall of their dynasty if something were not done, immediately, to reign him in and tamp down the gossip and sniping.

Shaken, the king had summoned his wayward son, remonstrating harshly with him about his shameful conduct, and calling on the ghosts of his beloved mother and brother as witness to their family dishonor. He had thrown down an ultimatum, painful to the king but one he was willing to honor, that he would disinherit Killian entirely and name his nephew Roland as the Crown Prince and heir to the throne. It would break the last bits of his heart to do it, but he would not hesitate if he believed it best for his people.

Killian had not cared one whit about the throne or being disinherited. But Milah had. She had cared very much. She had no interest in bestowing her continued favors on a penniless ex-Royal but she had a great deal of interest in holding onto the power her relationship with the Prince conferred. She had even more interest in having that same Prince become King when the old man died. She already imagined the power she could wield and she had no intention of giving it up. To Killian, however, she said none of this. Instead, she persuaded him to go through with the marriage to appease his father, arguing she could not stay with him if she knew that she was the reason for an irreparable rift between father and son and the loss of his birthright. It would torment her on his behalf. No, no, she said, silkily, he could marry the silly little Princess, but it would be a marriage in name only. And when the old King passed away, Killian could set aside his wife on grounds of nonconsummation and marry her instead. Think how happy they would be, she told him. They would have everything they wanted.

To herself, she thought gleefully, "I will be Queen!" – not the peasant she had been born, not the former wife of the Dark One, not the Countess of Chartwell. If her elderly husband didn't oblige, she'd slip him some arsenic in his nightly hot milky drink to help him to the other side. The wheel of fortune had raised her up high, and she was determined to go even higher.

Killian had acceded to her scheme, seemingly helpless to refuse her anything. After all, he was in love, wasn't he? Milah was beautiful, intelligent, voluptuous. She had opened him up to all the depraved pleasures and indulgences of the flesh he had never imagined as an idealistic young prince chasing after his older brother, feeling always overshadowed and never quite as worthy.

This romantic side of him actually enjoyed the idea that he would nobly forswear all normal marital relations with his unwelcomed bride, instead adhering loyally and faithfully to Milah as the true wife of his heart. And after all, such arrangements were not uncommon among the nobility, though admittedly there was usually an expectation that at least one or two heirs would be forthcoming first.

He fidgeted with his cravat and considered bolting before it was too late, but at just that moment the solemn music begin to play.

As he waited at the steps of the altar, she began her long walk down the aisle of the Great Nave. Christ, he thought, she looked like a giant meringue in her big puffy dress, her face obscured by the swath of veiling. He shot his cuffs, a bored expression playing across his handsome features.

Emma, for her part, could barely see a foot in front of her with all the veiling and fervently hoped she would not trip and fall flat on her face. She kept her eyes on the small girls dressed in ivory satin dropping petals and walking just in front of her, steadying herself on the reassuring arm of her uncle, Lord Locksley, who had stood in for her father. His familiar presence and calm strength reassured her. She could not have known she was as a lamb being led to the slaughter.

When she had finally reached the bottom of the altar steps, she shyly stole a glance at her groom, and once again felt weak at the knees. Even through the heavy veiling, he was even more beautiful than she remembered, the angles of his face even handsomer with maturity. She could hardly wait to take off the hot veil and see him without hindrance. She nervously hoped he would find her equally desirable. She'd been told so by many suitors, but it was hard to be certain.

Despite his unhappiness, Killian found himself curious during the ceremony about what she would actually look like. In his mind, she had remained a skinny, rather boyish little girl with leaves in her messy pigtails and dirt all over her face. A child really. As he stood before her to speak the words, he noticed that at least she was no longer a child. He could see the swell of her breasts beneath the thinner material of the veiling that floated below her shoulders. Below her full breasts and distracting décolletage, she tapered down to a narrow waist and slim but noticeably curved hips. _She's eighteen years old now, he thought suddenly, of course she's not as I remembered! _

When the time came, he raised the veil carefully to see her face for the first time in five years. He inhaled sharply, taken aback. She was very beautiful, and right now she was smiling and looking at him like he was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen in her life. Her golden hair was piled on top of her head rather than flowing down her shoulders, but she looked exactly like the enchanted princesses in the fairytales his mother had read to him and Liam when they were small children. Mesmerized, he found himself leaning eagerly toward her at the prompting of the Archbishop to kiss his bride, his lips, tasting her, lingering just a little too long for a formal church wedding.

Remembering himself suddenly, he pulled back, his face slightly distressed.

Emma felt her first twinge of anxiety as she regarded his unsmiling face, noticing how he had pulled away from her somewhat abruptly. Her unease increased during the wedding feast. For much of the time they were too engaged in listening to the toasts and accepting the good wishes of their guests to talk to each other. But in the odd moments of conversation, he was polite but impersonal, as though speaking with a stranger. Well, she thought to herself, I suppose that's what we really are – strangers. She didn't like the way that realization made her feel.

She did her best to remain charming and look happy through the remaining festivities, including the embarrassing ritual of the bedding ceremony. She could tell when she looked at him that he felt just as uncomfortable. Maybe it will be better when we are alone, she thought, it has to be!

When they were alone, he didn't speak to her directly, instead, walking over to the table with long strides and pouring himself a glass of wine. "God," he exclaimed, his back to her, "I'm glad that's over!" Turning to her, his expression softened a little, "I'm sorry, where are my manners? May I offer you a glass?"

Emma was sitting in her nightdress on the bed, trying to think whether she had ever felt so out of place and awkward in her life. She hadn't, but she cleared her throat nervously and accepted his offer. She watched him as he walked over to her and handed her a glass of wine. She'd barely eaten or drunk anything at the feast itself, too nervous and too distracted by others. She drank it straight off.

"Whoa, slow down there, Princess," he said, a faintly amused expression on his face for the first time that day.

"Thank you," she said in a shaky voice, "I guess I'm just a bit nervous." She peeked up at him, hoping he would do something to reassure her, perhaps put his arms around her to soothe her.

Instead he walked back to the drinks tray and poured them both fresh glasses. _He's nervous, she thought, but why? Surely he's done this before! Is it me? Is it the __circumstances?_

She got up and walked over to stand beside him, accepting the glass. There was an uncomfortable silence as they both sipped the wine contemplatively, neither moving. But his nearness affected her powerfully, the potency of his beauty and his masculine smell drawing her closer. She _desired_ him. Tentatively, she turned towards him and placed her hands experimentally on his chest.

He froze, then carefully put his glass on the table. He looked down at her and swallowed hard, unnerved by the feel of her touch and the disturbing sight of her creamy white breasts swelling over the top of her nightdress. Taking his reaction as encouragement, she slowly slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his lightly, gazing up at him with luminous eyes.

He locked his eyes on her, seeing the desire clearly written on her face. Her beautiful golden hair spilled all around her shoulders and for a second the image flashed in his mind of burying his face in the soft tresses. His pulse quickened and his breathing became more labored as he felt her against him. His own body betrayed him as he felt himself becoming aroused. For an instant he weakened, his arms coming around to pull her into him. The next moment, confused and horrified by his reactions, he reached up with both hands, seized her wrists, and pulled her off him, gently but firmly. He stepped back while moving her wrists until her arms were once again in front of her. Then he dropped them. Gods, he didn't know it was going to be so difficult! Why did she have to be so goddamn beautiful? Why did she have to have such a desirable body? For a moment he felt angry with her. This was not what he was expecting.

"Wwwhat's wrong?" she asked, her face falling in shock in dismay. "Have I..have I done something? Have I …displeased you in some way?"

His face softened as he saw her lower lip quiver a bit. He saw the hurt of his rejection on her face and guilt suffused him. He'd never really considered the possibility that her feelings were involved. Instead he'd thought only of himself. Nonetheless, he had made a promise, and he intended to honor it. In a gentle voice, he asked her to sit down. She did so and he seated himself in the wing chair facing her. He leaned forward and took her hands in his lightly, but reassuringly.

"I'm sorry, my dear. You've done nothing wrong, and it's not your fault. There are … external circumstances that weigh on me at present," he said carefully. "I think it would be best if we retired for the night and discussed this in the morning."

She looked at him closely, her lips forming the words to protest, to tell him he could confide in her any troubles, that she would help him, comfort him, but they died before she could get them out as she saw the set of his jaw. She could see that he had told her the truth, but not the whole truth. Perhaps he had some sort of …. embarrassing issue? He'd certainly felt like a male with normal responses, but really, what did she know? And she sensed it would be damaging to argue further.

Instead, she simply nodded gravely and rose from her chair. "Very well," she said simply, walking over to the bed, climbing under the covers and settling herself. She waited for him to join her, but he just stood there looking even more unhappy. "Well," she said, "are you coming to bed?"

"Yes," he snapped abruptly, "Good night, my dear." He turned on his heel and almost fled the bedchamber. He opened the door from her room to his adjoining bed and dressing room and was gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Stunned and entirely bewildered, her face crumpled and she couldn't stop the tears from overflowing at last. She buried her face in the pillow and cried herself to sleep.

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	3. Chapter 2

**BETA READ BY DANCINGDOULA WHO WON'T LET ME TAKE SHORTCUTS. **

Chapter Two

Killian could hear her crying through the door as he lay in his bed, sleepless and feeling thoroughly guilty. He hadn't fully realized how difficult his political marriage of convenience would be, having vaguely expected his new bride to feel relieved that he didn't bed her on their wedding night. He'd imagined she'd be fearful, embarrassed, and reluctant given her own inexperience and the fact that they were virtual strangers to one another. He thought he would appear to be chivalrous in denying himself the satisfactions of the marriage bed, willingly sacrificing his own base needs to her modesty. She would be grateful for his indulgence, and they would become good friends. The last thing he imagined was that she would be not only willing, but eager, for him to make love to her, that she would actually be the aggressor in initiating physical contact, and that he would be the one to turn her away. And the look in her eyes … he had recognized her naked desire for him fueling her actions. The girl behaved as if she were already in love with him!

Equally unsettled by his own reaction to her—he'd dimly remembered a dirty face, messy hair, and an awkward, coltish girl who had seemed little different from the lads who were her companions in childish games—he hadn't expected her to be an attractive _woman._ _More than just an attractive woman_, a voice inside whispered. A beautiful woman with the body of a goddess and hair like warm, golden sunshine. The feeling of her lips parting under his, the sexual jolt he'd felt when she pressed her perfect, creamy breasts against him, the heat from her loins so close to his. She had tasted of warm honey, and her delicate feminine scent like fresh flowers on an early spring morning had filled him with longing. He'd found her overwhelmingly desirable, and for a few moments he felt himself weakening, wanting to give in to that desire for her surging up within him. Before he'd recovered himself and remembered his promise to Milah, he'd been at the point of yielding to Emma, pulling down her nightdress to expose her lovely breasts and exploring the delights and possibilities of her lush body.

He groaned as he felt himself becoming unbearably aroused again at the thought of the girl in the next room, only one unlocked door between them… she would part her creamy satin thighs and open up like a flower to him and she would feel and taste like heaven.

Guilt flooded over him again, this time not about Emma, but Milah. How disloyal he was! Milah had been the only loving arms he'd known as he fought the black dog of depression that had overwhelmed him with the untimely deaths of his mother and brother and the sad diminution of his once proud father. She had helped him to go on, and taught him the delights of the flesh, the excitement of sexual release. She'd indulged him in his pleasures and coddled his whims. He owed her everything. While it was true that for some time now she had seemed to prefer having another girl in bed with them in order to attain gratification for herself as well as for him, the early months of their liaison had been blissful, a voyage of discovery for a shy and inexperienced young man. And Milah appeared to be unflinching in her devotion and support for him as he uneasily adjusted to the new and unwelcome responsibilities of being the heir of the realm. He still didn't feel worthy to succeed his father or brother, but at least Milah seemed to believe in him.

He finally fell into an uneasy sleep towards morning.

The next few weeks passed peacefully, if awkwardly. Despite his promise on their wedding night to explain himself, Killian went out of his way to avoid Emma, and when he did see her at meals or in passing, he was cordial but tried to remain aloof. Confused and hurt, Emma began to avoid him as well. She knew there was something he wasn't telling her, but she decided her strategy for the time being would be one of patient endurance and observation until she could understand what lay behind the polite mask.

She began to seek out other opportunities to make herself useful and to find other amusements besides her husband. In this, she was quite successful. First, she began having breakfast and spending the morning with her reclusive father-in-law. The daily tonic of her warm, solicitous smile, genuine care and interest, and charming wit began to transform the old man bit by bit.

Emma read to him every day, and they often played a game of chess as well. He spent hours talking to her about the history and politics of his realm, surprised by the depth of her knowledge and insights. She would make an excellent consort and support to his son, he thought, hope springing in him for the first time since the twin blows of his wife's and eldest son's deaths. When they dined together, the King was pleased to see that Killian seemed equally impressed with Emma's intelligence and wit, and her extensive knowledge of literature and art as well history and politics.

"Whatever happened with those changes you and Liam were planning in the management of the crown estates?" his father asked him one evening during dinner.

"Nothing at the moment. Before Liam…left us," Killian paused and swallowed hard, "we'd succeeded in changing the form of ownership on the fertile lands we hold to the west, and the next logical step is to turn to the eastern lands."

"What are these changes?" Emma asked, perking up visibly.

"Traditionally, the peasants worked our lands and were given only tiny plots of their own to work for their own sustenance. We modernized by dividing the bulk of the crown lands into small, but ample, free holdings and divided them among the inhabitants," Killian explained, "now they pay us mostly in kind but sometimes gold as tenants rather than landless peasants."

Emma nodded. "That's generally been the tradition where I was born. Have you seen a change in productivity as a result?

"Astonishing, really. Production doubled within two to three years and I'd be surprised not to see further gains, but I haven't really looked at the accounts in a while. " He trailed off, a little embarrassed at how negligent he'd been recently.

"It makes a huge difference when the people own their own lands, don't you find?" she asked.

"It seems so. I'd like to see the system spread beyond the western crown lands, but that's likely to be significantly more challenging," Killian explained, making a sweeping gesture with his hands.

"What sort of obstacles?" Emma questioned him, her eyes alight with genuine interest.

"With respect to the eastern crown estates, the soil isn't terribly good, and it's rocky and mountainous. I'm not sure it would work as well." Killian said doubtfully.

"Isn't the weather relatively warm there?" Emma responded. "Have you considered greater specialization?"

"Yes, that's an excellent suggestion," Killian said, surprised. "Liam and I had considered vineyards to make wine as well as olive trees to press olive oil, all for export. We've also considered whether sheep and goat farming would be a better use of land in the higher terrain."

"Have you thought about timber in the colder areas to the north as well?" Emma continued, thinking aloud.

"Actually, no, but that's a good suggestion. There's a little now, but not nearly sufficient given the region's potential. Not to mention that this applies to crown lands only; we'll have an uphill struggle trying to impose similar reforms on the nobility."

"I can see that, politically," she nodded in agreement. "It would be difficult to convince them to give away their land, as they see it, based on the promise of richer returns in the future."

"You have the problem exactly," Killian said, his eyes regarding her warmly, appreciating her acuity.

"I've no doubt if you set your mind to it you could persuade them eventually," she said quietly, meeting his gaze.

"Of course he could do it," the king had been silent up to this point, listening to their conversation. "

In truth, Killian was surprised at the intelligence and education of his new wife. There was no denying that she was an excellent conversationalist, and under other circumstances he would have relished the opportunity to converse with so charming and erudite a young woman. He liked that she seemed genuinely interested in his own ideas for legal and economic reforms to modernize the kingdom and seemed well versed in the relative merits of the different approaches under consideration. But his recognition that she was intelligent as well as beautiful only added to his discomfiture.

While he appreciated Emma's tact and attention to the old King, Killian was still amazed when he saw his father finally emerge from seclusion and begin to take a daily turn around the garden with the Princess. Sometimes Killian would watch them from the shadow of a curtained window, noticing how his father leaned on her arm to steady him, and the tender, loving expression on Emma's face as she inclined her ear to hear the old man's words.

When his father retired to have a sleep in the afternoon, Emma would take some exercise outdoors if the weather was fine. Usually, she would change into her riding clothes and take a ride on the fine mare she'd been provided, then afterward she would throw off her coat and romp around the garden with the dogs and page boys chasing one another. Many afternoons Killian would feel himself irresistibly drawn toward the window when he heard the shrieks of laughter and barking outside. He'd find himself transfixed as he watched her gamboling and capering with the boys, his heart somehow lightened by her laughing face, flushed with the exercise, her hair streaming wildly about her shoulders. A part of him envied the sheer fun they seemed to be having as he lurked gloomily inside, afraid to engage with her. But sometimes he would find his eyes lingering over the alluring swell of her backside, muscles tensed as she prepared to spring forward in pursuit of her target, as fleet of foot as Atalanta. Then the next moment he would find himself lost in a fantasy where he joined the game, chasing his Atalanta through the forest until he overtook her, pushed her down on the forest floor, and opened his breeches. She would lie on her back, breasts heaving, then she would spread her legs open to welcome him….

Abruptly, he pulled himself back from his erotic fantasy just as Emma suddenly paused and directly looked up at him standing before the window. He swore at himself and stepped back quickly out of sight.

In truth, Emma had been aware of his scrutiny for several days. She realized she'd caught him staring at her, and probably rattled him judging the way he'd jumped away from the window. She allowed herself a tiny smile of satisfaction. One small victory for her over whatever it was that caused him to avoid her.

Other than his surreptitious voyeurism, Killian was bored and restless. His father had demanded that he stay home and away from the inns, taverns and other abodes of vice and pleasure at least for the few months succeeding the wedding. And to ensure that he stayed away from Milah, a discreet word from one of the King's men into the ear of the Earl of Chartwell had persuaded the old man to take his wayward wife off to a distant mountain retreat famed for the healing powers of its hot springs. Killian counted the days until her return, telling himself that his unbidden sexual interest in his unwanted wife was merely a symptom of his frustration and longing for his dearest Milah.

Sometimes he couldn't avoid Emma despite his best efforts. Not long after their interesting dinner conversation, he ran into her out riding on the cliffs near the coastline.

She had dismounted and was allowing her horse to rest and snack on the lush grass and she stood looking out over the harbor below.

He thought of turning his horse and galloping back into the forest but something impelled him to continue in her direction. Hearing his approach, she turned to see who was behind her. When she saw him, her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"My lord, what brings you down here?" she asked him mildly.

"I heard some of our naval ships were due into port today," he answered, dismounting. "I thought to see which ones."

"I believe you served in the navy for a time?" Emma inquired.

"Yes, as well as a tour through the army. My father thought it important for Liam and I to both serve the country and learn to fight alongside the ordinary soldiers and sailors," he told her.

She nodded slowly. "I'm sure my father will expect the same of my brothers. I only wish I could have had a chance myself."

He smiled a little in response but said nothing.

"Which did you enjoy more?" she wondered, "Soldiering or the navy?"

"Definitely the navy. I've always loved the sense of freedom the sea gives me," he said, a faraway look on his face. "But I also think the system for choosing and promoting officers is sounder than in the army."

"Is it different?" she wondered.

"Yes. Army officers purchase commissions, and any joker with enough money can be a captain or a colonel even if he's a complete fool. The navy provides more opportunities for the talented to rise on merit alone. It makes for a more effective fighting force, among other benefits," he explained.

"Is that something you'd consider changing?" she asked him, the slightest hint of a challenge in her voice.

He paused, considering. "Liam and I had talked about it. I was more keen on it than he, but he agreed in principle. I've thought about it."

They talked a little more about possible political and bureaucratic strategies to implement such a significant reform when Killian noticed the sun was beginning to sink and the weather to chill.

"I believe you are cold, my lady," he said, part of him reluctant to end the conversation. "We should return."

She inclined her head toward him and pulled the reins over her horse's head. He helped her into the saddle courteously, trying to hide how much he enjoyed putting his hands on her.

"Thank you my lord," she said gravely, looking down at him, "I enjoyed our conversation."

He gave her a short, slightly furtive nod of acknowledgement, bolted onto his horse, and the two of them galloped back to the palace without another word.

Not long afterwards, a large house party arrived at the castle for a week of merriment to celebrate his marriage and meet the new Crown Princess, week of festivities that was to culminate in a Grand Ball. The party included many of the young noblemen who were Killian's closest friends, all his favored hunting and sporting companions, and a few his partners in drinking, gambling, debauchery, and other idylls of young rich men with too much time on their hands. Killian greeted his friends with enthusiasm, relieved that at last he would have some diversion from the vexing problem and temptation of his new bride. Soon he was spending his days riding, fencing, and hunting wild game with his mates by day, and then playing at cards in the evening after sumptuous formal dinners. He and Emma had almost no time to find themselves awkwardly alone together.

That was all to the good, as far as he was concerned. What he foolishly hadn't anticipated, however, was the sensation Emma caused among the noble company and the dazzling impact she had on all the young men of his acquaintance. She sparkled under all the adulation as the young men vied for her attention, competing openly to see which one could make her laugh, who would be chosen to be her whist partner, who would get to hold her fan and pull out her chair for her. And he couldn't very well object when his friends eagerly urged her to go riding with them, an invitation which she eagerly accepted. She kept up with their frantic pace easily, a natural horsewoman and the young gentlemen were outspoken in their amazement at her skill. He would find himself repeatedly distracted by her long golden hair streaming behind her, the sunlight glancing off her bright tresses. Then his eyes would roam downward toward the sight of her strong, toned young thighs effortlessly controlling her mount with the slightest squeeze. An unwelcome image would then creep into his mind of those same strong thighs wrapping around his waist as he roughly took her. He hadn't fully realized the erotic subtext of riding as Milah detested country pursuits and never rode or even walked in the countryside.

His discomfort increased in the evenings. He sat glowering one night after dinner as the party continued in the drawing room over the card tables, a company of musicians playing quietly at one end of the room. He scowled as he watched her across the room, four or five of his best looking and most debonair friends making fools of themselves as they jockeyed for a position nearer to Emma. She smiled and flirted with them, completely ignoring her husband, who found himself fuming impotently over his cards.

"Don't tell us that you're an able swordswoman as well as a superb horsewoman," he heard one of them say.

"I don't know how 'able' such accomplished gentlemen as yourselves would find me," she demurred, dropping her lashes modestly, "but I was trained by my father from an early age, and like to think that I'm at least able to defend myself."

"Do I dare challenge you to a match?" This last was asked by Graham, Viscount Hunt, Killian's oldest and closest friend. They'd known one another since they were tiny boys, and Graham had practically been raised by Killian's late mother after Graham's own mother had died giving birth to his sister. Graham was a handsome, charming man and Killian was well aware that women fell at his feet regularly. Hoping to distract Emma from the evident interest she had displayed in her husband, at the start of the visit Killian had actually asked his friend to pay special attention to her.

Now, however, he began to feel annoyed by just how well Graham was carrying out this "favor". Given that every single one of the unmarried men and several of the married already seemed to be in love with his wife, perhaps Graham needn't be quite so attentive any longer. She had plenty of admirers now even if her husband was unwilling to be one of them. He tried to feel relieved about that, but a hard little knot of something very similar to jealousy had formed in the pit of his stomach.

He watched her answer Graham's challenge. "Certainly," she said coolly, "Shall we say ten o'clock tomorrow morning on the great lawn?

"What about you, Killian," Graham called over to him. "You've been sulking in the corner over there all night. Why don't you come along with us tomorrow?"

He had no choice but to agree, a forced smile on his face. But he didn't like it, and he told Graham so later that evening, when they were alone sharing a brandy in Killian's study.

"I think you and the other lads are showing more attention to my wife than is strictly proper," Killian said, embarrassed by the ridiculous primness of his comment. Was he insane?

"Who are you, her governess?" laughed Graham, "besides why do you care? You've already confessed she's your wife in name only! Why shouldn't she get some attention? Such a beautiful flower as she may wilt without at least a modicum of tenderness and affection."

"That's a secret only you know," Killian retorted hotly, "and it's critical that so long as my father is alive we observe the proprieties, which means she should be treated with all due reverence. You especially have been overfamiliar with her and I won't tolerate it."

"Do you hear yourself?" Graham asked him, unfazed. "Perhaps you should consider getting a little more 'familiar' with her yourself! She is in every way a suitable wife – perfect actually – and everyone is green with envy at your good luck. Christ, when I think about some of the harridans my family has proposed for me!"

"I'm not immune to her appeal," Killian said, brooding, "and it would certainly make my life easier. But you know I gave my word of honor to Milah and constancy to my word has ever been of paramount importance to me. I can't be an oathbreaker."

"It was a ruddy stupid and rash promise to make!" Graham expostulated rudely.

"Aye, I may have been a fool to promise it, but promise I did. And you well know I've been in love with Milah for years," Killian replied heatedly.

"At best you've confused love and lust, old boy, and at worse you've been led by the nose down the path of perdition by a cunning and undeniably appealing woman who deliberately targeted you when you were devastated by your mother's death, and then Liam's," Graham said, not afraid to be brutally honest.

"If we weren't such old friends, I would call you out for that," Killian stormed.

"Well, you're a bloody fool, and that's a fact," Graham retorted blithely, "and one day you're going to wake up and realize it.

**THANKS FOR READING YOUR FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED!**


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The next morning, a surprisingly large company of young men turned out on the great lawn a little before ten to observe the fencing match between Graham and Emma. Killian had no choice but to join them, reluctant as he felt. The fencing master met them, offering a choice of weapons, laid down a few rules, and the two of them commenced. Although their match was lighthearted and punctuated by occasional jibes and laughter, Emma's performance was impressive. She was extraordinarily light and quick, making up for her comparative lack of size and strength with her speed and agility. Although Killian could tell from his long personal experience sparring with Graham that his friend was holding back a bit, although he could see that Graham found her challenging, and began to exert himself more and more as their match progressed.

After Graham and Emma agreed to calling it a diplomatic draw, a few others asked for the opportunity to spar with her. She readily agreed, matching them thrust for thrust though Killian could see she was beginning to tire. He was as impressed and surprised by her as any one of them, but he began to feel more and more perturbed as he watched the cut and thrust before him and the frequent body contact as they feinted and lunged. He suspected – no, he _knew _- that his friends were deliberately throwing moves that would enable them to touch his wife and press themselves into her lithe body as if by accident of combat. He wasn't jealous, he told himself, no, no, not in the least. It was the _disloyalty_ he minded, the sheer _disrespect_ that his supposedly loyal companions were openly displaying to him as her husband. After all, none of them other than Graham knew that it was a marriage in name only! And consummated or not, he was her _lord and master._ Their conduct was a flagrant insult and a challenge to his masculinity and his proprietorship of his wife, and she was allowing it, _he_ was allowing it all because he was so guilty. But he wasn't jealous!

He felt a simmering, primal rage that drove out every rational thought. He forgot about Milah and he forgot about how he had rejected Emma on their wedding night. He forgot about her tears and how he had virtually ignored her for weeks. Instead he found himself saturated with a burning instinct to demonstrate his ownership of her – publicly.

"Enough!", he shouted at Emma and Lord Willoughby, still circling one another, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. "I believe it is _my_ turn to match swords with my wife."

Surprised, Emma inclined her head in agreement. As they moved around each other warily, Killian, already agitated, began to parry and thrust, hoping to catch her on the side with a quick feint. But as she repeatedly dodged his carefully executed moves and slipped away just out of his reach, he began to attack with greater ferocity. Emma rarely counterattacked, preferring instead to roll and twist her lithe body in an effort to save her strength and tire him out. Infuriated, he raised his sword high, whirling around in a graceful turn, and aimed for her shoulder. His execution was perfect, but she had anticipated his turn with a delicate sideways duck of her head, putting her in position for an easy touch to his side.

He barely conceded the point with an incline of his head, their swords clanging loudly in the morning air as a slightly stunned hush came over the spectators, discomfited as Killian and his beautiful wife went at one another with a seemingly deadly intensity that had been entirely absent in her earlier contests. Feeling the uncomfortable silence and the disapproving stares, he threw caution and gentlemanly manners to the winds. As if demon possessed, he could think only of his need to subdue her unquestionably and immediately. Using the advantage of size and weight, he gave her a shove, and while she wobbled, he kicked her leg up from behind, knocking her flat on the ground. Smirking at her triumphantly, he threw himself on top of her, his sword held to her delicate white throat, her breasts heaving beneath him as she inhaled ragged breaths.

Shocked by his outrageous behavior, Emma looked at him with narrowed, furious eyes as she felt his all too obvious arousal pressing against her thigh. Feeling the waves of heat rolling off his body and inhaling the musky odor of his animal desire, she could hear the embarrassed murmurs of the onlookers as Graham pulled Killian free. As if he had suddenly become aware of his uncouth behavior, his face froze in horror and he turned away from her in shame. She ignored him as Graham gallantly helped her to her feet.

"I believe my husband has temporarily forgotten his manners in the heat of battle," she said as gaily as she could manage, brushing the grass from her breeches. "We shall have to have a rematch later. Is anyone ready for lunch? I believe it will be served shortly on the terrace."

The tension relieved, the group began moving back towards the house, most looking forward to spreading the juicy piece of gossip they had just witnessed at the earliest opportunity.

Graham offered Emma his arm and walked her back to the house as well. "Are you quite well, my Lady?" he asked kindly, his voice filled with concern. "I'm so sorry about … what happened…Killian's behavior. It's not like him, really it isn't."

Emma gave a shaky little smile. "I wouldn't really know what my husband is like. He barely speaks to me." Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, huge tears formed in her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks. She ducked her head and angrily wiped them away with her hand.

"Here, let me," said Graham, taking out a handkerchief and gently daubing her eyes with it. He put his arms around her and pulled her into him, letting her sob quietly into his chest as he stroked her hair, making soothing little clucking noises as if to a distraught child. "I'm so sorry, Princess, I truly am. I know it is very hard for you, and that Killian is not all he should be as your husband. I know that he could be, but you have to understand he's not really been himself these past few years."

She looked up at him then, her face questioning. "You know something, Lord Hunt, something you're not telling me! Why hasn't Killian 'been himself'? Why won't my husband, why …. why won't he …._touch_…me, I mean, as a husband… ," she added in an embarrassed, stammering whisper.

Graham took a deep breath and gave her a compassionate look. "I'm sorry, Princess, but all I know was told to me in confidence, but I suggest you ask your Lord Husband to be honest with you."

"I see," she said, at last, "Thank you for your kindness. Please excuse me."

She fled upstairs to change her clothes and collect herself before lunch, her hurt giving way to rage as she entered her bedchamber, crossed the room, then flung open the connecting door and stormed into Killian's room, taking him by surprise.

He had been standing at the window, paralyzed for some time, reluctant to face anyone after the humiliating spectacle he had created. There he had watched as his friend Graham had dried Emma's wholly warranted tears and taken her in his arms to comfort her. He was in no position to complain about it, but he was jealous and felt too confused to wonder why he even cared. Shouldn't he be pleased that Emma had found another man to comfort and entertain her? Isn't that what he wanted? Wouldn't that justify his own desire to be with Milah instead of his wife? Why wasn't he happy? What in God's name had possessed him to behave so scandalously? It was more than his unsportsmanlike and ungentlemanly fencing with a woman, as unforgivable as that was. He'd lost all control and thrown his wife down on the ground and virtually rutted against her in full view of at least twenty well born personages of the land. And when Graham had pulled him off her, he'd been a hair's breadth away from tearing off her breeches and taking her on the spot. Had he gone mad? God, why couldn't Milah be here to take away his confusion?

"What the hell was that all about?" she demanded furiously, breaking through his thoughts with all the authority of a future queen.

He turned abruptly, catching her flushed cheeks and clenched fists, mind instantly flung back to that moment when his body had been covering hers with a demanding arousal. Filled with shame, he hung his head. "I'm sorry, deeply and sincerely sorry, for the whole shaming incident. My conduct was irredeemably bad. I don't know what came over me… some kind of madness seized me. I do not even understand it myself. I offer no explanation or excuses, for there are none. All I can do is beg for your forgiveness, and I will understand if you cannot." He hoped she would accept his apology and leave his room, where he could be free of her distracting presence.

"I can offer an explanation, if not an excuse," she retorted hotly. "You were flat out jealous! I've seen you watching me. And don't think I didn't feel you against me. You _wanted_ me," she accused, shaking a finger at him, her hair disheveled and her green eyes flashing with anger.

"That's not true…I just got caught up in the heat of the moment, I forgot myself and lost control and I realize it's unpardonable…" He was babbling now, and knew he sounded like an imbecile.

Emma gave him an appraising glance, then took a few steps forward, invading his personal space and causing him to flinch in reaction. Undeterred, she seized him by the collar with her fists and yanked him towards her.

Startled by the touch of her lips against his, he felt her delicate tongue gliding over his mouth, seeking entrance. Hoping to shock her out of her boldness, he opened his mouth and thrust his own tongue into hers, then deepened the kiss by forcing his way into her yielding mouth. He tangled his long fingers into her silky hair and held her head in his hands as he probed her, his lips now hard and insistent. His passion rising, he moved his hands to her shoulders and pushed her to the nearest wall, his hard thigh pressing between her legs to part them as she moaned in response, and he found that he liked her boldness very much. Hand wandering into the open collar of her shirt, he sighed with pleasure as he captured one of her full breasts in his hand, feeling her nipple harden under his touch. She was greedy for him, her responsive body shivering under his touch, so different from the way he and Milah had been for longer than he cared to remember….

Milah. Oh God, Milah.

With a strangled groan, he pushed himself away from her, his eyes wild and his face anguished. "I'm sorry, I can't…I mustn't…" he broke off and stumbled away to the door, then bolted out into the corridor, leaving her once again aghast and frustrated.

"Coward!" she screamed at his rapidly retreating figure.

Then he was gone.

**WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU WITH FEEDBACK OR A PM!**

**I REALIZE THIS FIC IS MORE CONTROVERSIAL IN ITS SETUP AND IN THE ROLE OF MILAH.**


	5. Chapter 4

**THANKS SO MUCH TO MY BETA AND INSPIRATION DANCINGDOULA. THANKS FOR READING THIS STORY. POOR EMMA IS IN FOR A BIT OF NASTY SURPRISE.**

Chapter Four

Emma was feeling exceedingly nervous. She'd been bathed, pampered and powdered, her hair perfectly coiffed. Although she appeared lovely and serene on the outside, she was anything but calm on the inside. She was in a state of complete emotional turmoil and had been since the unsettling encounter with Killian a few days earlier.

Now, however, it was the night of the Grand Ball to celebrate the recent nuptials of Prince Killian and Princess Emma. Everyone who was anyone had been invited and a steady stream of carriages rolled up the long palace driveway. The ball had been the talk of the kingdom for weeks, and the palace was filling with guests avidly curious to see the handsome couple. Stories of her beauty had circulated throughout the land and among a select few, no small amount of gossip. Rumor had it that there was trouble in paradise, but the nature of the trouble was uncertain. Some had heard that the Prince remained infatuated with his notorious mistress, the Countess of Chartwell, and wanted nothing to do with the lovely Princess. Others heard a furious row had erupted over the Prince's jealousy of his wife's flirtation with Viscount Hunt right under his nose. The tittering and speculation allowed all sorts of wild rumors to flourish.

The Prince and Princess had not seen one another for several days. After their disturbing encounter in his bedroom, he had abruptly left the palace, saying he had been called away on urgent business, conveying his regrets to the company, and disappearing into thin air, promising to return in time for the Ball at the end of the week. Emma had invented all manner of possible reasons for his strange behavior, but strongly suspected it had something to do with another woman, although she could hardly go about questioning people on her husband's sexual history.

It had been a strain, but she had done her best to maintain her game face, laughing and chatting and pretending everything was blissful despite the obvious fact that there was something seriously amiss. She was particularly fearful of the old King becoming upset. She had grown terribly fond of him and felt for his patent suffering and grief. He aroused her protective instincts and she felt she would do anything to shield him from further sadness. If that meant she pretended all was well between herself and Killian, then so be it.

Killian's past few days had been even more turbulent. Most of the time he spent drinking himself into oblivion and losing large sums of gold as he bet recklessly at cards and dice. He caroused the nights away and slept uneasily during the daylight. In addition to the trouble with Emma, his longed-for reunion with Milah had not been the soothing, reassuring balm he had hoped it would be.

He called on her as soon as he heard she and her husband had returned from the mountains. The butler showed him into the morning room and announced him. She entered a few moments later, then instantly rounded on him as soon as she'd shut the door.

"What is this I hear about your shaming yourself in front of an entire party over that simpering little nobody?" she demanded angrily.

Inwardly, he cringed. He'd hoped she hadn't heard anything, although he well knew rumours were flying through the capital city.

"Darling, of course not!" he said soothingly, attempting to take her in his arms and kiss her. "You know I promised it would be a marriage in name only and I've kept that promise."

She wrenched away from him, fuming with rage. "Liar!" she screamed, her face contorted. "They say you made a jealous fool of yourself over her and practically fucked her in front of the entire party!"

"Milah, no, those are just rumours, it was nothing like that," he pleaded, walking toward her and attempting to take her hands in his. "We were all playing at swords, just harmless fun. It was misunderstood, taken out of context… ."

He was cut off as Milah flew at him and raked her nails angrily across his face. Hearing his flesh tearing beneath her sharp claws, he reached up in disbelief to wipe drops of blood from his reddening cheek.

Shocked by her outburst and unsure what, if anything he could say to reassure her, they stood staring at one another mutely, both breathing hard.

"You don't love me, obviously," Milah spat out at last. "I'm sure you've already broken your promise! How can I ever believe you?" she moaned, weeping piteously. "Just tell me the truth: have you fucked her? Because if you have I never, ever want to see you again," she declaimed dramatically.

"No! No, of course not. But darling, please, calm down, we need to talk," he tried again.

Instead, she turned her back on him, walked to the door, flung it open, and motioned for him to leave.

"Please go at once," she ordered, her face thunderous and implacable.

Killian, frustrated, obeyed her and slunk away to lick his wounds and consider what, if anything, he could do to appease her. After pondering the matter, he decided a grand gesture of some sort was needed. Accordingly, Killian decided to spend a huge sum of money on an eye-poppingly flashy diamond and emerald necklace, the finest he could find in all the land.

When he returned to her drawing room several days later in supplication, she greeted him politely, if coldly. It went just as he'd hoped. He presented it to her with a flourish, and an instant later her face was once again wreathed in warm smiles, marveling at the way it flashed and winked in the light. Moments later, she was purring like a kitten and stroking him to arousal. "Do you swear you haven't fucked her?" she whispered.

"Of course not!" he affirmed, starting to relax at last under her nimble fingers.

"And do you promise you won't touch her?" she pressed him, finding the spot that always made him inhale sharply with exquisite pleasure.

Feeling guilty that he had already done a bit more than just touch Emma, he nodded affirmatively.

Seemingly satisfied, Milah gave his groin a little pat and told him to leave now as her husband was expected any moment. He let out an earth shattering groan of frustration. She was driving him insane.

Showing him to the door, she leaned into him impishly and told him she had a special surprise for him at the ball the next evening, promising him all the delights of sexual pleasure and release that he could imagine. He felt a little frisson of excitement, feeling once again enraptured by Milah's powerful spell.

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On the surface, the Ball appeared to be a triumph. When they appeared together at the top of the Grand Staircase, the crowd literally gasped. Emma and Killian looked every bit the fairy tale Prince and Princess from a storybook. He was devilishly handsome in a sumptuous silver damask waistcoat and black tailcoat and she was spectacularly gorgeous in a scarlet ball gown cut low across the shoulders and bust to reveal her lovely skin and creamy décolletage. He escorted her carefully down the stairs and then swept his Princess across the dance floor, the two whirling gracefully together as the onlookers burst into spontaneous applause at the lovely, romantic picture they made.

In reality, he had reappeared at her side just before their grand entrance, causing her to wonder if he would even bother to show up. When he took her hand, his touch burned through her glove, reminding her of their passionate kiss, and the shameful way he had left her furious and fully aroused. She felt stripped naked by the stares of the mob below them, sure they could look right through her to see her failure and humiliation. Held firmly against his body, his hand on her waist, she thought wistfully of how blissful it would be if it were only real, but instead she was swallowing thickly to blink back tears, her face falling as her thoughts darkened.

"Smile, darling, people are watching," he warned her in a low voice, fake smile plastered on his face.

"I'm doing the best I can," she hissed through gritted teeth. "You behave like a monster, you disappear without a word for days, then suddenly reappear with no explanation. What do you expect?"

"For you to do your part, of course," he said smoothly, "the show must go on."

She did do her part. She smiled and laughed until her face ached with the effort and she thought she would faint from the emotional exhaustion. Breaking away for a moment, she entered the ladies' retiring room to catch her breath and compose herself. A few moments later, another lady dressed in a magnificent silver gown entered behind her.

"Oh my dear, are you quite all right?" the woman asked Emma compassionately. "I saw you leave the party and you looked a bit distressed. Is there anything at all I can do to help you?"

Emma looked at her the older woman gratefully. She was in dire need of a kind word at the moment. "Thank you, I'm just a bit…tired, that's all."

The woman placed her arm comfortingly on Emma's shoulder and gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. "I don't blame you, how overwhelming this all must be! And you so far from home. My heart breaks for you."

"Thank you for your kindness," Emma said, appreciating a friendly face and admiring the woman's long brown curls and lovely attire.

"Not at all, if there's anything I can do, you must tell me. I know marriage itself can be a very challenging business – I ought to know as I've been married myself for many years and have quite a deal of experience with the foibles of husbands," the kind lady reassured her.

"You do?" Emma gulped. Perhaps this kind lady might be someone in whom she could confide? Perhaps offer her some useful advice in her oh so perplexing dilemma.

Just then two other ladies entered the room and the kind woman drew her aside conspiratorially. "Why don't we talk later, in private? When we adjourn for supper at eleven, why don't you seek me out here and we'll have a nice long chat, woman to woman."

"Oh I'd like that!" Emma said, sounding pathetically grateful. She missed her mother and it would be good to have an older, more experienced woman as a confidant.

"Don't worry, I'm sure everything will work out perfectly well. I'll see you later then," the lady responded. "By the way, my name's Milah."

Emma thanked her again, noticing as she did the magnificent diamond and emerald necklace she wore. She must be quite a grand lady of the realm.

Feeling a little better, Emma got through the rest of the evening uneventfully. When supper was called, she took the opportunity in the confusion that followed to return to the retiring room to seek out the friendly woman.

When she entered the dimly lit room, at first she thought no one was there and she was alone. She closed the door softly behind her, then heard noises coming from the corner of the room. Her eyes adjusted to the lower light and there, right in front of her, was a man with his back to her. He was standing between the legs of a woman with her skirt pulled up around her waist. He was grunting and pumping in and out of her furiously as the woman moaned in appreciation, her back against the wall.

Shocked, Emma gave a little involuntary shriek of surprise then clapped her hand over her mouth as the pair ceased their rutting to turn around and see who had interrupted them. One of them, his face frozen with horror, was her husband. The other, a triumphant gleam in her eye and a mean little smile on her face, was Milah, the apparently kind woman who had invited her for a cozy, sympathetic chat.

Without another word, Emma backed out of the room and fled.

**EMMA HAS TO ENDURE A LOT OF PAIN BUT THAT IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU ARE A SAVIOR, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE SAVING ANYONE AS STUBBORN AS KILLIAN! BUT FEAR NOT TRUE LOVE (AND GOOD SENSE) WILL TRIUMPH IN THE END!**

**PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW THEY ARE SO HELPFUL AND INSPIRATIONAL!**


	6. Chapter 5

**EMMA HAS HAD A TERRIBLE SHOCK BUT FORTUNATELY RUMBELLE WILL APPEAR TO GIVE HER NEEDED SUPPORT. AND KILLIAN IS BEGINNING TO REALIZE HE HAS MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE…...**

Chapter Five

Emma fled down the empty corridor to the safest refuge she could think of – the King's library. She let herself in and threw herself down on the big comfortable couch and cried until no tears were left and she was utterly wrecked and drained. She wanted to tear out her eyes and wring out her brain to erase the repulsive image that now seemed seared into her unwilling consciousness, wincing at what a naïve simpleton she had been. She had been made a fool in every way possible. Certainly Milah had deliberately entrapped her. It dizzied Emma to imagine the kind of mind that could devise and execute such a cruel and unnecessary trick. And it sickened her to realize that the man she had foolishly dreamed about as her Knight in Shining Armour must love a woman like this. For love it must be, or at least lust, and she now understood the key to his heretofore inexplicable behavior. He hadn't wanted to marry Emma, he wanted to be with this woman, this Milah. Though Emma knew that he had been tempted, he had resisted Emma's charms, all because he preferred another woman, a cruel, heartless woman who took pleasure in hurting and tormenting Emma.

"Excuse me, Princess," a small voice whispered, "Are you ill? May I get you something, some water perhaps?"

Emma sat up, sniffing, and beheld a beautiful girl a little older than she, wearing a lovely yellow gown. "Who are you? And what are you doing in here?"

"I'm so sorry I startled you. You see, I'm a bit shy, and I decided to hide for a little while in this amazing library. I'm fond of books, you see. My name is Belle."

"Belle…that name seems familiar." Emma said, wary of trusting another friendly-seeming stranger.

"Ah yes," she smiled, "I'm the wife of Rumplestilskin – the Dark One. Though not as dark as he used to be, I hope." Belle settled down on the couch next to Emma.

Emma's mind clicked with memory at the mention of the Dark One. "Wait a moment – yes of course I know of you! Don't you have a rather romantic story?" she asked eagerly, hoping to distract herself from the awful spectacle she'd just witnessed.

"Well," Belle smiled shyly, "I suppose it is, rather romantic, I mean. I was Rumple's ward when he was still married to his first wife. We fell in love, and after his wife abandoned him and their son to pursue a life of adventure and pleasure, we married. He's tried very hard to redeem himself, and we're very happy for the most part."

"How did he become the Dark One?" Emma asked.

"He was an ordinary man once, a successful businessman. Though he provided a comfortable living, his first wife was never happy. She constantly pushed him to do more, earn more. She craved power and prestige. No matter what he did, it was never enough. It was she who learned the secret of the Dark One's dagger, and persuaded him to find the dagger, kill the previous Dark One, and assume his power," Belle explained, her face full of sadness.

"But the power of the dagger began to corrupt him, to eat him up inside. She couldn't understand what he was feeling and pushed him towards ever darker deeds to acquire things like castles and jewelry, and to hurt anyone who crossed or offended her in any way. When I came to be his ward, the good man inside was almost lost, but I could see there was still a true heart – just a remnant – left in him. By that time, she was hardly ever home, she'd gotten the money she wanted and she just left one day. I think she wanted a title and she became a courtesan. She certainly never cared for him or their son, left without even a good bye."

The hurt and indignation in Belle's voice was clear.

"Belle," Emma asked, suddenly, "What was her name?"

"Milah," Belle said with evident disdain.

"Oh, that would explain it, then," Emma closed her eyes and sank back into the cushions.

She wearily reopened them when she felt a soft touch on her arm. "Do you mind telling me why you were crying?" Belle asked, her unassuming nature giving Emma no reason to believe she couldn't trust the beautiful woman.

"Because Milah just set me up to discover her and my husband in the most flagrant and humiliating way anyone could devise, and she was successful," Emma said in the saddest voice Belle had ever heard. Emma flushed with the remembered humiliation and hung her head.

Belle put her arms around Emma and gave her a fierce hug. "Emma, I'm so sorry you had to find out that way. It must have been devastating, especially if you didn't have any idea about their affair."

Emma gazed at her mournfully. "Evidently, I'm the only person who didn't know. But it explains a lot. I was a fool to have married him and an idiot for believing that he could fall in love with me."

"You love him then?" Belle asked, her voice filled with empathy.

"Yes. No. I don't know," Emma said dully. "Right now I hate him. But my so-called love for him amounted to nothing more than a teenage girl's naïve fantasy, a projection of an idealized love that existed only in my own imagination. I didn't even know him, not really."

"What will you do now?" Belle asked, giving her another sympathetic squeeze.

"I don't know. My first impulse is leave immediately and go home to my family and never think of him or this place ever again," she said ruefully. "But the thought of going home humiliated with my tail between my legs doesn't appeal to me. And besides, the King is not a well man. I hate to be the cause of any more grief for him after what he has already suffered. He doesn't deserve that."

"And your husband? Do you have any concern about leaving him?" Belle asked quietly.

"No, why should I?" She shrugged, hoping she looked unconcerned. "They're lovers. He chose her, he wants to be with her, not me. I now realize he must have been coerced into marrying me in the first place."

"You don't think he might be worth saving?" Belle asked seriously, leaning forward with interest. "Killian was an idealistic young man known for his good heart, his courage, and his kind deeds for others until his mother died. He became deeply depressed, a depression that only darkened after Liam's untimely death and his father's withdrawal into solitude. He was very lonely and vulnerable. Milah preys on that kind of vulnerability, and she encouraged his descent into vice and debauchery to make it easier for her to manipulate him for her own ends. But what happened to that noble young man? Isn't he still inside somewhere?" Her voice was full of a longing Emma didn't quite understand, until she realized that Belle was the type of person that always saw the good in others. She would make a wonderful friend.

"Well, he chose her, didn't he? Doesn't he bear the responsibility?" Emma replied.

"Of course he does, as does Rumple! When I first met Rumple, he was with Milah. Like your husband, he had a romantic soul, and when he committed himself to a woman, he thought that he should do anything, and I mean anything, to make her happy. And he made some terrible, terrible choices – it was weakness, not strength at work. But there was still a good man in there who longed for redemption. I'm going to guess Killian is the same, and he's not nearly as far gone as my husband was," she added.

"She must possess some secret magic, to have two such men make such a fuss over her," Emma commented. "I wonder what it is."

"To be honest, I've wondered the same – if she practiced the dark arts, for example. But it may be nothing more than beauty, sensuality, and the ability to discern and manipulate their deepest insecurities and anxieties. And in the beginning, when she first hones in on her target, she is unflagging in her flattery of their egos and her rationalization and encouragement of their least noble impulses. She's not interested in urging or inspiring them to do the hard work of being their best selves. She's interested in encouraging them to indulge their vices and weaknesses, because that makes them easier for her to use."

Emma thought for a few minutes. "I don't honestly know if he's worth it, but I'll think about it. But even if I went along with your suggestion, I'm not sure what I should do to help 'redeem' him, as you call it. I don't think he wants anything to do with me."

Belle took her hand and patted it. "The only thing you can do is be the person that you are, Emma – a good one. He'll be drawn by the light inside you and the belief you have in his innate goodness, that he is worth saving. He won't be able to resist, trust me on this. He's already drawn to you, am I right?"

Emma regarded Belle for a few minutes thoughtfully. Then she nodded slowly. "I'm not saying I am willing or able to do this, but I'll at least think about it."

"Good," said Belle, sounding pleased, "and Emma, know that I am your friend, and anytime you need me, I will be there for you."

Just then they were interrupted by the opening of the library door. Emma observed an attractive older man enter, richly dressed in a dazzling royal blue coat.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said, catching sight of Belle. "Have you forgotten your promise to waltz with me?"

Belle ran to him and kissed him lovingly. His wintry countenance lit up at her touch, making him appear much younger. She brought him over to Emma and presented her husband. Emma wasn't sure whether it was his natural persona or the power of his magic, but he exuded a powerful charisma.

"It is a pleasure, Princess," he said, bowing with a little flourish. "Is something amiss?" he asked, noting her puffy eyes, tear stained cheeks and messy hair.

"I'm afraid the Princess has had rather a shock," explained Belle, "she's just walked in on her husband and your ex-wife in a compromising position."

He was silent for a few moments, an expression of distaste on his face. "Then I am sorry for you and for your husband. Milah is a vicious cunt and you deserve better."

"Rumple! Language!" Belle reproved him gently.

"If you'd just let me kill her like I wanted to, none of this would be happening," he reminded her.

She shushed him, then turned back to Emma. "I have faith in you! Just try to have faith in yourself. Can we escort you back to your room? You don't seem in any shape to rejoin the party."

Emma thanked them, let them walk her upstairs, then bid them good night, promising she would visit them soon.

Wearily closing the door, she began walking to her dressing room, wondering if she should ring for her maid to help her out of her dress and corset. Then she stopped suddenly.

He was sitting in a chair waiting for her, his expression miserable. He'd evidently been helping himself to wine while he waited for her.

Silently, she walked to the table, poured herself a glass, then sat down in the other chair.

He cleared his throat nervously. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way. I should have told you the truth from the beginning, but I was…a coward. I thought it would be easy but then it was all so confusing and much more complicated than I expected."

"What is it you want from me, Killian?" she asked simply.

"I…I don't know. I didn't mean to hurt you; I never meant to hurt you. It didn't occur to me that you would very rightly have your own reasonable expectations of a husband, or that you might have… have had…feelings for me. It was wrong and I can only say how sorry I am to have put you through this." He hung his head as if in shame, which indeed he was. He felt utterly horrified with the way he had treated her, she who had married him in good faith and never been anything other than lovely, gracious, and warm towards him. Who every other man in the realm coveted. Who had slowly brought his lost father back to life with her kindness and love. And he had rejected and destroyed her, the look on her face when she saw him with Milah had cut him to his very core. He'd smashed her up as carelessly as an unwanted glass doll all in pursuit of his own heedless, selfish pleasure.

She flushed at his mention of her feelings, but she steeled herself to speak honestly to him. "I thought it was love at first sight when I met you that day five years ago. I fantasized about you – or my ideal version of you – for five years. Marrying you seemed like a dream come true," she said, her face flushing at her own naivete.

"But I now know those feelings weren't real. They were simply the fantasies of an immature girl projected onto you because I suppose you were a man who happened to fit the part who came across my path at an opportune moment," her voice cracked a little.

This disclosure, so agonized yet honest, broke Killian's heart a little. It hurt him more than he would have thought to know how she had adored and idealized him, put him on a pedestal, only to discover what a wicked, heartless bastard he truly was. A part of him he'd thought was gone forever suddenly reawakened within him, and he longed to be the hero she had imagined.

"And as for my expectations," Emma continued bravely, "Well, I suppose they were the same ones any woman of rank entering into an arranged marriage would have – that she would at the very least be treated with respect and courtesy if not love. That she would have an opportunity to have children. So yes, I would say I am disappointed."

He took a deep breath, feeling utterly wretched. He saw that she could not even bring herself to look at him, and he felt as if the door to a warm house had slammed shut in his face and left him outside in the dark, alone and shivering in the bleak midwinter cold.

"I suppose you will want to return to your kingdom," he ventured at last. "I will consent to a divorce on grounds of nonconsummation, of course, if that's your wish. I would wish to make amends to you if I could."

"Isn't that your wish too?" she said with some asperity. "That was the game plan all along. You were coerced into marrying me, but from the start you intended to divorce me for nonconsummation, but when? Not now, I shouldn't think. You hoped to wait until your father died. Then you would set me aside and marry Milah, have I got it right?"

It had all sounded so plausible, even noble when Milah had first proposed this mad plan. Now he winced at how ruthless and sordid it all sounded. What had he become? He squirmed at the memory of Emma's stricken face when she had discovered him with Milah, and his own horror at the realization that Milah must have engineered the entire episode to drive a stake through any hope that the marriage would succeed

"Yes," he said dully. "I behaved cruelly and selfishly without regard or respect for you or your feelings. There's no excuse. You have every right to hate me. I don't blame you. I hate myself right now. It's for the best for us to part, I'm not worthy of you anyway."

She thought for a while before she answered. His demeanor surprised her. She hadn't expected for him to be so abjectly apologetic. Perhaps Belle was right? He seemed to feel genuine remorse and shame about his behavior. Some good part of him, uncorrupted by Milah, seemed genuinely stricken at how deeply he had hurt her, and he seemed to be groping for some means of atonement. Should she turn her back on him, as she had every right to do, or was he truly worthy of redemption? And was she really the person to pull him back from the darkness?

Given her uncertainty, she made up her mind that she should not act hastily, even if ultimately it was best for them to part. At long last, she spoke, her words measured. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know what I want. But I do have a proposition for you."

"Go on," he said, the barest hint of hope in his voice, raising his eyes finally to fix his sapphire gaze intensely on her stormy green ones.

Emma could feel herself melting a little under his gaze. Damn his blue eyes and handsome face! She steeled herself against him and hardened her heart. She wasn't going to let down her guard and have him make a fool out of her again.

"I care about your father, he's already suffered enough heartbreak and I don't want to contribute to any further misfortune. And I know you don't want to hurt him either," she said firmly. "If you agree, I'll remain your legal wife until he passes away. Then we will consider whether we should divorce and on what grounds."

"That's more than generous on your part," he said, raising one eyebrow skeptically. Were her motives entirely concerned with his father's health and happiness? Or did she harbor residual feelings for him? He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Was he dismayed, or were those tiny flutters of elation and hope he was feeling? Again, he was in turmoil.

"There's more," she said, her voice implacable. "You will treat me with public courtesy and respect. You will maintain appearances and you will stop neglecting your public duties. No more gambling, no more drunkenness, and if you wish to continue consorting with your mistress, it will be done discreetly and well out of public view, although I doubt very much she will accept that."

Now it was his turn to flush. He had no idea what he was going to do about Milah, but he didn't have much choice if he wanted to spare his father's feelings. And he did, very much, want to spare them. How ashamed his mother and brother would feel about his conduct, and he wondered again at his own recklessness and self-absorption. Liam had been concerned enough about his liaison with Milah and the debauched life he had been leading when Liam was killed. Indeed, had he been with his brother the night of the ambush that killed Liam. Instead of dallying with Milah, perhaps he might have saved his brother's life. He had tried to banish all such thoughts because they ate him up with guilt. His guilt had made him desperate to convince himself that his relationship with Milah swas of such a sublime and elevated nature that it justified his many derelictions of his duty and honor to his family and his country. How had it all gone so terribly wrong? He had to turn his life around if he wanted to avoid further destruction.

He nodded in agreement. He had no idea how life would be conducted on a day to day basis under those terms, but he supposed they would figure it out.

They both stood up. There was an awkward pause.

"Well, goodnight, Killian," Emma said, beginning to turn away when he clasped her hands in his own. He intended to thank her most sincerely for her generosity of spirit and kindness towards his father, and to promise he would do his best not to further disappoint her, but she jumped back from him like a scalded cat, a look of pure revulsion on her face.

"I hope, for your father's sake, that we can make this work," she said tensely, "Perhaps after a time we might even establish a sort of friendship. But don't touch me again. After what I saw tonight, the thought of your hands on me turns my stomach."

He was so gutted by her words it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He felt like vermin. There was nothing more to be said. He turned on his heel and left the room.

Making his way downstairs, he found Graham still playing cards and beckoned him to come over. "Have a drink with me," Killian invited.

Killian led him into the library and poured them both generous portions of brandy, then the two sprawled in a pair of comfortable leather armchairs.

"Well?" Graham asked him. He'd already heard what had happened.

"I've completely destroyed my life," Killian told him miserably. He proceeded to relay the conversation with Emma to his friend.

"Serves you right, you treacherous bastard," Graham said, unsmiling. "A goddess falls out of the sky right into your lap, and you publicly reject and humiliate her beyond salvation, and all because you're infatuated with that trollop Milah! Every man we know has had her at one time or other, including me. Don't you know she was only ever out for herself? Do you honestly think she cares about you?"

Killian was stung by this. He knew he had behaved unforgivably to Emma but he had clung to the thin shred of hope that he had done so for the nobler, pure love he imagined he had with Milah. But perhaps Graham was right, and it had all been a fatuous, self-destructive fantasy.

"Well what do you advise me to do? I don't think Milah is going to go along with being kept in the background, and Emma says I turn her stomach."

"No clue. You are well and truly fucked, I'd say." Graham said blithely. "Don't forget I tried to warn you long ago and you wouldn't listen to me. It's still unbelievable – every man who meets Emma falls hopelessly in love with her, except her own husband, who fancies himself in love with a scheming whore."

Killian was too exhausted and filled with self-loathing to take offense. "I know," he groaned, "I just couldn't see it."

"Are you saying that now, of all times, you've finally decided you're falling for her?" scoffed Graham.

"I don't know, maybe," Killian scowled. "I've certainly found it hard to stay away from her. It's like she's filled up my head and I can't get her out of my mind no matter how hard I try to deny it." He cursed his blindness and stupidity, remembering how willing and eager she'd been for his touch, his kiss, even as he willfully pushed her away. And now that same touch revolted her. He shuddered at the feeling that something magical had slipped through his fingers, lost to him forever.

"Well, your timing is impeccable, that's all I can say," said Graham with a short laugh.

"I suppose you could try to win her back, but that seems farfetched at best."

Killian gave his friend a shrewd look. "You're saying that because you want her."

"Yes I do. And there's no point denying it. She looked at you like the sun and moon rose in your eyes and you destroyed her. When she divorces you, I hope to be the one she chooses. She deserves better than you."

Killian couldn't deny it.

**HOPE YOU LIKED THE LITTLE SHOUT OUT IN THIS CHAPTER TO THE RUMBELLE COSTUMES AND LOVELY DANCE IN THE SEASON 4 PREMIER. I DO LOVE THEM!**

**THANKS SO MUCH TO THOSE WHO HAVE FOLLOWED AND FAVORITED THIS VERY UNUSUAL FIC - PLEASE LET ANY FRIENDS ON THESE BOARDS OR TUMBLR KNOW IF YOU LIKE IT - THE FEEDBACK IM GETTING IS REALLY HELPING ME SHAPE THIS STORY. THANKS TO ALL THE REVIEWERS AND PLEASE DO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK EITHER WITH A REVIEW OR A PM! **

**MANY THANKS.**


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Killian woke very late the next morning. He'd been dreaming he was a boy again, playing a game of pirates with his brother Liam. He'd surprised Liam and Graham and dowsed them with cold water. That had led them to chase after him, yelling their threats of retribution when he'd effected a narrow escape by coming upon his mother in the garden and hiding behind her skirts.

"What's all this about?" she'd asked affectionately, taking him in her arms for a cuddle.

"It's Liam and Graham! They're chasing me and I'm afraid they're going to catch me and give me a thrashing!" Killian faux-sobbed into his mother's breast, clutching his small arms around her neck.

When Liam and Graham came skidding to a halt in the garden, they both grimaced and gave up promptly, realizing that the baby and pet of the family would now be protected from their just vengeance. Instead, they launched into a cacophony of complaints about Killian's bratty behavior and how he had provoked them.

Their mother smiled indulgently, stroking Killian's black curls to soothe him. "Oh I know, I know! Killian, my pet, how many times have I warned you not to pick fights with boys bigger than you are?" she reproved him without much force.

Liam and Graham exchanged knowing, infuriated glances. "You always let him get away with _anything!_" Liam accused his mother.

"I know, I know, but he's younger, and so beautiful and such a good boy," his mother said in gentle voice. "Now both of you kiss me, then run to the kitchen. Cook has just made the most lovely chocolate cake. Go and tell her I said you were to each have an extra-big piece with your tea."

Shouting happily, Liam and Graham had run off, Killian's crimes forgotten for the moment. Meanwhile Killian smiled the secret smile of the adored baby of the family – he'd got away with it again!

His happy dreaming reverie was abruptly halted as a flood of dark, shaming memories of the previous evening flooded into his mind. He quailed at the thought of Emma's stricken face and the diabolical nature of Milah's scheme. He scowled at the thought of Graham's frank confession of his amorous designs on Killian's wife.

He heaved himself over fretfully. Handling Milah was going to be tricky. He had to keep her at least complacent so she would not cause further mischief as he attempted to placate Emma. At all costs he must avoid further scandal and heartbreak for his father.

His feelings about Emma remained in turmoil. He'd pushed her away repeatedly despite his growing attraction to her, feelings he was only now beginning to acknowledge, grudgingly. He felt guilty about his cruel treatment of her and wanted to make amends at least. At the same time, he felt equally wretched about Milah. And something else – a small hard knot of suspicion that maybe Milah had played him for a fool. The trap she had laid for Emma, the way she had masterfully manipulated him into the whole embarrassing situation – his faith in Milah was shaken to the core and he began to reexamine their relationship in a more skeptical light. They way she'd insisted he agree to marry Emma in order to hold onto his place in the succession. Had the real reason been her own vaunting ambition to be Queen one day, and not his own well-being as she had fervently proclaimed?

What, exactly, did he want from Emma? Did he want, as she suggested, to become friends and co-conspirators, political partners for the sake of convenience and saving face? Did he really want to live in a sham marriage, with or without Milah?

His head throbbed as his thoughts whirled and he realized he was badly hungover and beginning to feel bilious as well. Groaning, he turned over in bed, pulled a pillow over his head, and tried to shut out the world before his head exploded.

He slept most of the day, then skulked and sulked in his room for the next night, sending word via his valet that he was too ill to get out of bed. Every once in a while he would creep stealthily over to the door to Emma's chamber and press his ear against it to hear her. However, all remained quiet and by breakfast the next morning he was beginning to wonder whether she had spent the night there. And if not, where in God's name had she spent the night?

He rang for his valet, dressed, breakfasted alone in his sitting room, and then went down to greet his father in the library.

"He emerges at last," the old man exclaimed, rising from his chair by the fire, a cheery smile on his face. Killian, noting the smile, realized once again that his father had only begun to smile again when Emma had come to live with them. He made a mental note to express his admiration and gratitude toward her when he saw her later, if she remained willing even to speak to him.

"Good morning, Father," Killian cleared his throat and walked over to stand near the fire as well. "You're looking very well. How are you feeling?"

"Remarkably well, thank you," replied the King, settling himself in his favorite chair again. "Shall I ring for tea?"

"No thank you, I've got business to attend to," Killian declined politely. He hesitated for a few moments, then plunged in. "I'm surprised my lady wife is not with you this morning? Has she gone out riding already?"

"Actually, no," his father chuckled. "She left yesterday midday to visit the tenant farmers and tour the western crown lands. She felt she'd neglected her duties in this area long enough and wanted to leave immediately – I assume she told you?" His father shot him a questioning glance.

"Oh, er, yes, quite," Killian muttered, taken off guard. "I forgot." Shouldn't she have asked his permission or notified him at least? He fumed a little but supposed under the circumstances couldn't blame her.

"She decided she'd rather ride herself rather than travelling in a royal carriage with a large royal escort. Said it put the common people off talking to her, put too much distance and she'd be more useful if she could go about the countryside freely," his father explained, shaking his head. She was a plucky lass, his daughter-in-law, and a determined one when she had a notion in her mind.

"She's not travelling alone, is she?" Killian put in, his face and voice alarmed. It really wouldn't do for her to travel alone, for the sake of safety as well as decorum.

"Why no, of course not! Graham offered to escort her. You know he has a manor house of his own quite nearby and he fancied a little tour himself," the King blithely informed him, a shrewd look in his crinkled old eyes as he watched his son's reaction.

"How generous of him," Killian couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The treacherous bastard! And it was hardly decorous for his wife to be travelling with an unmarried and obviously attractive young nobleman like Graham. What could his father be thinking to have permitted it? He tried to suppress his rage and dismay, and his jaw twitched as he pressed his lips together in disapproval.

"Yes, I thought so too," his father replied, innocently, his eyes twinkling ever so slightly at Killian's obvious discomfiture. "But, Killian, it's been far too long since you yourself have toured the crown lands. What about all the reforms you and Liam introduced? You should go see for yourself!"

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Father," Killian nodded, obviously agitated despite his attempts to control his emotions. "I'll leave as soon as possible."

Although Killian had torn off after his wandering wife and her would-be lover as fast as he could, they still had nearly a 24 hour head start and he couldn't be sure exactly where they were headed or where they might have chosen to stop for the night. He winced a little at the thought of them stopping together for the night. Although he was positive the two would maintain the outward proprieties, Emma had already made it clear she was a passionate woman, and she'd had no satisfaction in that department from him, he thought. Might she give in to Graham's considerable charm and physical attractiveness? Had their marriage been all that a marriage should be, he knew his lifelong friend, indeed his foster brother, would never betray him by seducing his wife. But given his own actions, and Graham's disgust with him, he didn't know what he might do, especially if Emma herself sought solace and comfort in the arms of another. Could he really blame her?

Hot on their trail, he called in at many of the farms along the King's Road, noting with satisfaction how prosperous most seemed. He really had to press land reform throughout the Kingdom, he reminded himself. Killian had known most of the families since he was a boy, and they greeted him warmly, pleased that their Crown Prince would show such care and attention to their concerns.

They were equally elated, he discovered, by his Princess, who appeared to be universally lauded as an angel of kindness, beautiful inside and out. She had held the hands of the sick and dying, her prayers and devotion warming them like a healing balm. She had consulted with worried mothers and shared her own herbal concoctions for ill children with croup, influenza, earaches and more serious complaints. She had rocked fretful babies to sleep and listened to the homely concerns of their mothers and fathers.

He shook his head as he heard story after story, marveling. She reminded him of his mother, whose tireless devotion to and compassion for common people had given her the popular reputation of a saint. There had been floods of tears and genuine grief at the Queen's untimely passing. Some of the more credulous actually prayed to her for deliverance in times of sickness or trouble. Remembering his mother as he heard the many tales of his wife's kindnesses caused his throat to close up and his eyes to sting. It didn't help that many of the folk he spoke with approvingly drew parallels between his Princess and the late Queen. It made him feel like the worst vermin for his carelessness and his blindness in failing to appreciate Emma. Obviously he'd been physically attracted to her despite his intention to remain faithful to Milah, but Emma was proving to be so much more than just another pretty – no, beautiful - woman. As he rode on through the peaceful country, he found himself increasingly impatient, and longing to see her again, even if she did hate him.

When Killian finally caught up with Emma and Graham, he found her striding across the street of the main market village, a basket of medicines and bandages on her arm as Graham trotted her with a pile of blankets like a faithful dog.

Relieved to have found her at last, he pulled his horse up and jumped down. With a few long strides, he caught up with Emma and tugged at her arm to get her attention.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as she slowed to a stop and turned around to see who was plucking at her sleeve.

"Killian! What are you doing here?" she asked, her face clearly startled to see him.

Damn. He'd forgotten how lovely she was, and something twisted inside him at the sight of her. He realized he had actually missed her. He was also vaguely surprised to hear her call him by his given name. She usually addressed him formally as 'my lord husband' or 'my lord'."

"I came to find you," he replied after a little pause. "And it was high time I visited as well," he added hastily. He gave Graham a curt nod. Graham rolled his eyes at him.

"Well, we can't stop," Emma said, resuming her determined pace. "There's been an accident. A wall at the church collapsed while it was undergoing repairs, and some of the workmen have been badly hurt. We've set up a make-shift infirmary in an undamaged part of the nave, but we needed bandages and medical supplies to help with stitching the wounds and resetting broken bones."

"Wait a minute, woman!" Killian said, tugging at her again, frustrated, "isn't that best left to a doctor and the local people? I've only just arrived, and was hoping to be able to speak with you. We've matters to discuss."

She wrenched her arm away from him and gave him an angry glare. "Killian, it is our _duty _to help our people when they are danger or need, surely you know that?"

Paying him no further attention, she carried on like a galleon in full sail as he stood there, slack-jawed and entirely flummoxed. Graham gave him a pitying glance.

"Killian, my friend – let me give you one piece of advice about your wife," Graham lectured him. "You can walk beside her, or you can walk behind her, but _don't ever try to get in her way._" With that, he hastened after Emma.

Killian wasn't about to let Graham spend one single further moment scoring points with his wife unopposed. He saw to his horse and then scurried into the church. He was greeted by the sight of about eight or ten wounded men lying on blankets on the floor, some quite seriously, others, thankfully, less so. Several local women, some crying, attended to them.

Emma was standing next to an older man, apparently a doctor of sorts, who was gesturing and pointing at a badly mangled arm. Emma appeared to be arguing with him. Graham was nowhere to be found, presumably sent to fetch additional supplies. When Killian approached she barely glanced at him, instead speaking urgently to the doctor.

"If you take his arm off, he'll lose his livelihood!" she exclaimed. "I think we can stitch the torn flesh well enough for it to heal, and we can keep it preserved if we just keep it cold while the surgery is in progress. I've seen it done!" She ran an agitated hand through her hair, in mad disarray from the demands of the day and Emma's distraction.

"Have you an ice house in town?" she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Yes, it's a few doors down," said the doctor uncertainly, his lips pursed skeptically.

"Good," she said, turning to address Killian. "I need you to get down to the ice house, have them chop a largish block into bits, then bring it back. We'll wrap the ice in blankets and keep his arm cold while I'm stitching."

It didn't occur to him to argue, and soon enough he was offering the patient his own brandy to dull the pain, holding the man's head, and speaking to him in a low voice to soothe his screaming as Emma stitched his mangled arm feverishly. After she'd finished, the two continued from one person to the next. Sometimes Killian would hold the patient while she worked, at other times, she would offer comfort while Killian performed painful but necessary operations such as splinting and wrapping a broken limb or maneuvering dislocated bones back into joint. The ersatz doctor, miffed, had sloped off much earlier.

After the last victim had been tended to, Emma and Killian walked outside to get some fresh air. Together, they sank down on the church steps side by side, both disheveled, sweaty, and tired. Graham had been sent off to the tavern and grocer to gather food for the wounded men and their families. Silently, Killian handed Emma his brandy flask. She accepted it, taking a healthy slug, before returning it to him. He did likewise before heaving a heavy sigh, feeling the tired muscles in his shoulders. She sighed, played with the bandages still in her hand, and looked out toward the horizon, shading her eyes as she did so.

The sun was setting and beautiful streaks of red and gold coursed through the sky before them. The last golden rays caught Emma's hair and caused it to shine as if she were wearing a halo. Even dirty and disheveled, she was radiant, breathtaking.

"You're full of surprises," he murmured, his blue gaze frankly admiring. "How does a Princess in a castle learn to be a healer? You were bloody brilliant. Better than the doctor himself."

"Well, to be fair, I think he was actually the butcher," Emma said, turning towards him and smiling shyly at his praise. "But I have to say I'm the one who's surprised. How did you learn to reset and dress broken bones? You're better than most doctors I've seen."

He laughed softly, pleased and slightly embarrassed at her praise. "Why, the army and navy of course. Lots of grievously injured men there, alas, and not all of them can be mended. I found I had a bit of knack for it and I found it strangely satisfying." He broke off, ducking his head a little.

Emma looked at him with understanding eyes. Almost, but not quite, she wanted to reach out and put her hand on his. "Perhaps you enjoy being useful to others? Sometimes service to others can be more rewarding than cards, dice and women?" She was teasing him.

"Perhaps I would have made a decent doctor, if life were different," he allowed. Then he gave her a mischievous little grin and cocked an eyebrow. "But there's something to be said for gambling and women, too."

She laughed a little at his cheekiness, noticing how attractive he was when he relaxed in her company, rather than holding himself stiffly in check. How different it could have been had it not been for the cursed Milah. she thought to herself, a little wistfully.

"You must be hungry," he said, happy to have made her laugh. He was enjoying their moment of real emotional connection and cast about for a means of prolonging it. Perhaps he could engineer a dinner with just the two of them before blasted Graham returned to ruin the moment.

"I'm starving," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "Shall we find someplace to dine? The royal manor in these parts is a bit of a ride, but the tavern in town is quite decent as I recall." He rose and put his hand out to help her up.

She seemed to hesitate then, and began to rise on her own as if she hadn't noticed his outstretched hand. He frowned, feeling her closing him out again but said nothing.

As she walked down the stairs, however, her tiredness got the better of her and she caught her skirt and stumbled a little. Instinctively he reached out to steady her with two strong hands just as she had reached for him to right herself. As he pulled her up and into his body, he heard her breath catch a little as she looked up into his eyes.

Emma could feel the heat of his body against hers and she felt momentarily…confused. His particular spicy masculine smell assailed her and she felt dizzy and slightly weak at the knees. There was a heady, leaping sensation in her breast, and a fluttering deep in her belly. She cursed her own weakness in his presence. Why had he always had this effect on her? She leaned into him and parted her lips, half-hoping he would kiss her, when a sudden involuntary vision of him with Milah on that dreadful night flashed into her brain, rudely destroying the mood. Nauseated at the thought, she wrenched away from him.

Killian cursed to himself as she turned away. He'd been as swept away as she by the feeling of her in his arms, her breasts heaving under him. He'd been drowning in the sea of her eyes, the delicate bloom on her cheeks, and her sweet smell. He'd read the unmistakable passion on her face, confirmed for him when she tilted her head up at him and parted her full red lips, lips just begging for his kiss. He'd been on the point of bending his head to capture her lips in his when he'd seen her eyes suddenly cloud and the gates slam shut.

He knew, as surely as his own name, that their moment had been destroyed not by Graham, but once again by Milah. His shoulders sagged at the hopelessness of their situation, just as he heard Graham shout a greeting to them. Oh perfect, he thought sourly.

He didn't bother to hide his feelings or his sarcasm. "Why, Graham, what a surprise you've returned! Don't you have an estate around here that needs tending to? I think we have the situation here well in hand. Don't let us keep you." He composed his face in faux solicitude.

Graham shot him an amused look, then turned to Emma. "Perhaps you'd care to have some dinner," he said, offering her his arm. Killian scowled as Emma graciously accepted it and the two walked arm in arm down the street to the tavern, their heads close together in apparently intimate conversation. Killian could do nothing other than follow along in their wake like a third wheel.

During dinner, he watched helplessly as Graham worked his considerable charm on Emma, who laughed at his stories and flirted with him as if her husband, lord, and master, legally speaking at least, were not sitting at the same table. Despite his earlier hunger, he was barely able to eat. His insides felt gnawed by hot jealousy and regret like a poison and he fought the urge to batter Graham's handsome face until it was no longer so pretty. Graham, a man he'd loved as a brother all his life. That just made him hate himself more and held him back from offering any direct competition for Emma's attention.

He'd already ruined everything. He had only to sit back now, and watch Graham take his wife from him. He couldn't object, not really, as he'd been no husband to her at all, and certainly far from the husband who could truly deserve the treasure she had proven to be. He supposed when it was all said and done he could be with Milah as they had planned. But somehow the thought of spending the rest of his life with Milah left a bad taste in his mouth.

He was relieved when dinner was over. The evening had been an excruciating torment and he only wanted the oblivion of sleep. The landlord came forward then and offered them his best rooms for the night, which they gratefully accepted. He led them up the stairs and stopped at the first door on the right. Throwing it open, he turned to Graham.

"My Lord, this is our second best room. There are fresh linens and water provided for your comfort. Please call me or the servant if you require anything at all," the landlord said, bowing unctuously.

Then he turned to Killian and Emma and led them to the far end of the corridor and threw open the last door. "Your royal highnesses, it is my honor to offer my finest accommodation to you. We are at your service, and wish you a good night." Bowing even lower this time, he shuffled backward towards the stair and then disappeared, returning to the tavern below.

Killian couldn't help himself from throwing Graham a triumphant smirk as he followed Emma into their bedroom.

**HOPE YOU ARE ALL ENJOYING JEALOUS KILLIAN! GRAHAM HAS REALLY BEEN MAKING HIM SUFFER AS HE DESERVES, BUT WHAT LIES BEHIND THE BEDROOM DOOR? STAY TUNED.**

**THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING. I'D LOVE A REVIEW OR A PM WITH YOUR THOUGHTS!**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: I was so chuffed by all the new follows and favorites and your encouraging reviews that it inspired me to get a new chapter out right away. The feedback has been really interesting. LOTS of followers enjoy jealous Killian! There was some division over whether he needs to suffer some more or whether there needs to be some CS action. So I hope I found a good way to satisfy both requests.**

**To get revved up to write the full throttle obsessively jealous Killian, I listened to "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers about a 50 times. Great song. **

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><p>Chapter Seven<p>

As Killian closed the door behind them, Emma was thinking carefully about how she wanted to play this sudden turn of events. She hadn't really given much thought to the fact that the landlord would quite reasonably assume the newly married Prince and Princess would share sleeping quarters. She could hardly object and demand a room of her own at this point. Even if she had done, the story and ensuing gossip and speculation would have spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom.

In truth, the thought of spending the night with him was not unappealing. She hadn't been able to stop herself from desiring him entirely, try as she might. Her anger toward him had softened a bit as they'd worked together all day, united in purpose and communicating easily. She'd felt his heart open to her for the first time. They made a good team, and she had had a glimpse of what it could be with him, if given a chance.

Besides, sharing a bedroom wasn't all that different from the way they'd already been living. Perhaps she should behave with outward equanimity and indifference. They were both exhausted, after all, and they just needed a place to sleep. This would do as well as any. But she wasn't ready to trust him, and the scene she'd witnessed two nights ago with him and Milah seemed to be burned into the back of her eyelids to remind her.

Killian, however, was beyond rational thought or calculation. He'd had rather too much to drink and he had been systematically wound up tighter and tighter as he watched his wife and his best friend flaunt their flirtation right in his face. And was it even a flirtation at this point? His blood had already been running hot with jealousy, and his paranoid suspicion that she and Graham might have already become lovers pushed him over the edge into a nearly feral rage.

Acting on instinct alone, he unbuckled his swordbelt and threw it on the floor just as Emma turned to look at him, her mouth opening to say something and then closing it again, when she saw the look on his face. His eyes smoldered with rage and naked sexual desire as he closed the distance between them with two long strides and pulled her roughly into his arms before she could protest.

Holding her around the waist with his left arm in a near death grip, he tangled his right hand into her tumbled hair and used it to pull her head back and tilt her face towards his. His dark head bent down and he captured her lips in his, greedily plundering her mouth with his tongue when she gasped in surprise. She flailed at him, beating him ineffectually with her fists to push him away. He ignored her, tightening his grip on her until she could barely breathe and ravishing her lips with fiery, demanding kisses as she whimpered futile protests into his mouth.

She was drowning in the sensations he aroused in every part of her. Her body hummed with need, her mind became clouded with desire, and suddenly the strength to resist him drained out of her and she ceased her flailing. She felt her will overborne and her body become boneless, nerveless against his relentless assault on her senses.

He felt her sag against him as she unclenched her fists. Her hands then stole up to thread through his hair and wrap around his neck as he ground his throbbing erection against her. Taking that as encouragement, he began pressing hot, insistent kisses along her jawline and down the long, delicate line of her white neck, his beard scratching her. Tasting her with his tongue, he began to bite and suck at the tender flesh as she shuddered under his determined caresses. "Sweet," he growled in a low, rough voice, "you taste so sweet, Emma…"

He swept her into his arms, carried her to the bed, and then pressed her into the feather mattress with the full weight of his body. All thoughts of Graham, Milah, or any other practical consideration had been driven from his conscious mind as he honed in on the singular, nearly demented imperative of driving his cock into her body. "You're _my_ wife," he murmured huskily, over and over as he wrenched down the bodice of her gown. She shivered under his demanding lips and tongue, nearly fainting with pleasure as he greedily began sucking and licking at her rosy nipples until they ached with need and sent jolts of hot, pulsing lust surging into her warm sex, clenching and quivering with the need to be stroked and penetrated.

"_Mine," _he whispered, his voice thick with lust, biting her so forcefully she cried out. "_Mine…"_ But as he began to pull up her skirt and fumble with his pants, Emma suddenly snapped out of her sexually induced hypnosis and panicked. Instinctively, she jerked her knee up hard into his groin. She watched his face crumple in shock and pain as he rolled off her, cursing and holding his aching groin.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded, his voice sounding both angry and hurt.

"Don't tell me it's because you don't want me, because you and I both know that would be a lie."

"Of course I want you, you idiot," Emma said, sitting up as she tried to catch her breath and regain her composure. "That's not the point." Agitated, she rubbed her hands together, trying to stop them from trembling. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, and she fought to keep her voice from shaking.

"Well, then what is the bloody point?" he exploded, still wincing from the pain of her sudden blow to his manhood. "I want you, you want me, we are sharing a bed, we're married, and the joining of our bodies has been sanctified by Church and State. What more do you want?"

Now it was her turn to get angry. "How can you act like it's all so simple? I'm not any happier than you are that we'll both spend the rest of the night aching and frustrated." She pulled up her bodice and straightened her skirts, frowning as she did so.

Recovering himself, he sat up and reached over to pull her back down into the bed. "Come to bed," he wheedled plaintively, "I promise you won't regret it."

Pressing his chest to hers, they were face to face, their eyes locked. She felt his warm breath tickling her face. "You can't deny me," he said in a silky voice, "It's my right as your husband to have you anytime I desire, and right now I desire you more than I've ever desired anyone or anything." He slowly, sensually ran a hand from the swell of her breasts, down to her waist and began to pry her thighs apart.

But she turned her beautiful face away from him then, and bit her lip. "You're right. I can't stop you from taking what you want. But if this is your crude way of letting me know that you want to start over, that you want another chance, then this isn't the way to go about it."

Big tears suddenly welled in her eyes and slid slowly down her still-flushed cheeks.

His heart contracted then. He wanted her – wanted her badly – but not like this. He wanted to be the man to whom she freely and joyfully gave her body, not the greedy selfish bastard who took her against her will. And now he had made her cry – again. Cupping her chin and turning her face back to him, he wiped her tears away with his thumb. "I'm so sorry, Emma, love, to have made you cry or to have forced myself on you. But you seemed to want it as much as I do, and we'd never be in this predicament if we just had had a proper wedding night. I thought perhaps tonight could be a second chance?" His voice was plaintive.

"I do want you," she said softly, her hand reaching up to smooth back his wild hair, "And I'm willing to try to start over with you, if that's what you truly want. But if you were to…make love to me," she blushed prettily, and dropped her lashes. "If you did …if we did..and then I found out you'd been with Milah again, well, Killian, I just couldn't bear it." This last came out in a rush.

"Oh, that," he said, sudden understanding flooding into his sex-addled mind. The mere mention of Milah hit him like a blast of cold water. He rolled over onto his back with a muffled oath and covered his eyes with one hand, as if in pain.

She rolled over and poked him in the chest. "Yes, 'that'. So far as I'm aware, she's still your mistress. Have you broken off your affair once and for all?" she interrogated him, her tone brisk and business-like."

He didn't answer, and she sat up on her knees beside him. "Thought not," she said. "I may – _may_ – be persuaded to start over with you, but I am most definitely _not_ interested in sharing you with her, or with anyone. It has to be me, and only me, do you understand?"

Removing his hand from his eyes and opening them to look at her finally, he scrambled to his knees to face her, his eyes pleading and his expression hopeful again. "What if I told you I don't intend to see Milah ever again? What if I told you I will be only with you? That I will faithfully fulfill the vows I made to you that day in church? Couldn't we start over?" He reached for her again but she slipped out of his grasp and slid off the bed.

"Yes, I think perhaps we could. But starting over doesn't including making love tonight," she said, as she leaned against the edge of the bed, her eyes still fixed on his.

"Why not?" his face was mutinous as he stared her down.

"Because you'd say anything to get what you want tonight, and I don't know whether it's because you've suddenly realized you have feelings for me, or you want to make sure you've beaten out your friend Graham, or a combination of both," she walked away and sat down calmly at the dressing table, took out her brush, and began to slowly brush her hair. She could see his hurt expression in the mirror hanging over the dressing table.

She put down the brush and turned around to face him again. "And most important, I'm not sure if I can trust you," she said tensely. "I'm still not over what I saw the other night. I'm not even sure I can ever get over it. But I know one thing: I cannot put myself into an even more vulnerable position by yielding to you. If you betray me again after that, it would destroy any hope of us. It would destroy me." She shuddered at the thought as she felt the tears beginning to sting in her eyes. She picked up the brush again, but her hand was trembling so she couldn't move it.

"You have to prove that I can trust you," she said, her voice breaking a little.

He got out of bed, then, and walked over to her, his face full of sadness and longing. He stood behind her for a moment, and they both silently regarded their reflections in the mirror before them. "Here," he said quietly, taking the brush from her hand. "Let me do the honors."

His face furrowed in concentration, he lovingly began to brush the tangles from her long golden tresses. She felt her tense neck and shoulders begin to relax with the gentle scrape of the bristles along her scalp and the downward tug as he pulled the brush through her hair. She began to feel relaxed and sleepy, as she always did when her hair was brushed, had done since childhood. When he had finished, her hair smooth and shining, he delicately but thoroughly massaged her tired neck and shoulders, kneading the muscles with firm yet soft motions until her head began to droop as she gave in to her own physical exhaustion.

Her eyes were closed as he unfastened her dress and then pulled it over her head. Maneuvering her like a doll, he slowly pulled open the laces of her corset with his long, gentle fingers, and removed it as well. She was dimly aware as he pressed light kisses along her bare shoulder. Now free of the constricting discomfort of the corset and clad only in her shift, she leaned her head against his shoulder as he picked her up in his arms and placed her carefully on the bed. She was asleep as soon as her head reached the pillow, her delicate lips curved into the merest hint of a smile as she sighed contentedly, her face as peaceful and innocent as a child's. He couldn't help himself from smiling back at her. His wife.

He felt exhausted himself, and paused only to take off his shirt and remove his boots before climbing in next to her, blowing out the candle, and pulling the eiderdown quilt over them. He pulled her into his arms and against his bare chest, enjoying the way she felt against him. When she didn't protest, he kissed her forehead softly. "Goodnight, my Princess," he whispered, smoothing a few strands of hair from her face.

He thought about the sudden turn of events since the disastrous night of the Ball. He'd had quite a few shocks over the past few days. He'd been shocked by his own bad behavior and Milah's cruel duplicity. He had been shocked by the realization that as a man, he had hit rock bottom. He'd been surprised by how violently jealous and threatened he had felt by Graham's attentions to Emma. And he'd been surprised to find out how desperately he desired his wife, not just her body, but her respect and esteem.

He'd been falling in love with her – grudgingly, kicking and screaming – since their wedding day. Emma, he now understood, made him want to be a better man, whereas Milah had encouraged his worst vices. Today as they tended to the wounded, Emma had looked at him as if he were the hero, not the villain, of her story. He wanted nothing more than to see her looking at him like that always.

Although he worried that it might already be too late to prove to Emma that he was worthy of her love, he'd always liked a challenge. Come hell or high water, he would win back her heart. He was thinking about how blissful it was to hold her, how right she felt in his arms, when sleep overtook him. His groin might be aching, but right now, his heart, and his arms, were full.

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><p><strong>PLEASE keep your reviews and suggestions coming - they inspire me to write faster and they help shape the story. I'm so so grateful that you take the time to read and review!<strong>

**Please check out my new story Hot Priest, Cold Winter, my first modern AU CS story. Definitely looking for your feedback! Thanks!**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who have gone out of your way to be particularly encouraging about this story. It's meant so much to me, so I spent some time crafting an extra long chapter for you all in gratitude. Please check out my other stories Tied With a Silver Chain and Hot Priest Cold Winter, which will be updated very soon. I don't tweet or tumble, but if you do, and if you like this story and know CS friends who might as well, I'd be eternally grateful for a shout-out.**

Chapter Eight

Killian awoke just as it began to get light outside feeling happy for the first time in years. His beautiful wife lay clasped in his arms. He couldn't remember ever waking up with a lovely woman lying snug and warm against him in his bed. He and Milah had never spent an entire night together. She'd never been interested, or it had been too risky, or some other excuse.

He watched her for a little while as she slept, fascinated. At first she lay there quietly, her breathing deep and even. But after a bit she began to move as if agitated by a dream. Anxiously wondering if she was having a nightmare, hopefully not one that involved himself and Milah, he tentatively began to pat and stroke her, hoping to soothe and calm her apparent distress. To his surprise, however, she responded to his touch by becoming even more agitated, parting her lips, and letting out a breathy moan. The next thing he knew, she had thrown her leg over him and was grinding against his hip with her pelvis.

Could this possibly be what it looked like? He'd never considered that women might experience erotic dreams in the same way men typically did, but apparently they did. At least Emma seemed to having one. No surprise, he thought wryly, after how aroused yet unsatisfied they'd both been last night. His own sleep had been dreamless, probably because of the quantity of alcohol he'd imbibed. He wondered if women, like men, also climaxed in their sleep. Stealthily, very worried about waking and upsetting her again, he gently reached between her legs. She was soaking wet and her moans and gasps intensified at his touch. She ground against his hand until her legs began to shake and her breathing to stutter. He was fairly sure she had climaxed, and she settled back down right afterward. Well, he thought, marriage certainly is a learning experience.

He nearly groaned himself as he realized his wife's somnambulant yet erotic display had made him hard and desperate for release himself. God how he wished he could just roll her over on her belly and take her right then and there, but he knew she'd be aghast at any such attempt after their encounter the previous evening. Careful not to disturb her, he slid out of bed and stood behind the dressing screen in the far corner, rhythmically pumped his aching cock with his hand from base to tip until quite quickly he spilled himself into a handkerchief. All the while he fantasized about coming inside her, all her tight silken softness squeezing him dry while soft cries like those he had just heard fell from her rosy lips. The way she had trembled and responded to his touch, the fact that she was untouched sexually until he had awakened her with his lips and caresses, excited him unendurably. He wanted so much more. The fact she had been his for the taking – and taking again – only to have him willfully push her away - made him curse himself anew.

Sliding quietly back into bed, he pulled her to him and thought about the absurdity of his situation. A wife and a mistress and yet he was still having to use his own hand to obtain sexual release! It was a ridiculous joke the universe had played on him. Or rather he had played on himself.

When Emma opened her eyes sometime later, she caught him staring at her, not with predatory eyes as last night, but with softer ones that were filled with longing. She started to smile at him but suddenly remembered her extremely erotic dream and blushed, dropping her lashes to hide her eyes from him. Had he noticed anything?

Killian couldn't help but feel amused by her evident embarrassment. He was also hopeful that her blush beneath his gaze meant that she had been dreaming of him.

"It's still early," he whispered, "Go back to sleep. I'll go downstairs and arrange for breakfast later." He nudged a few stray tendrils of hair from her face. She smiled a little and closed her eyes with a contented sigh.

He slid quietly out of bed, dressed, and went downstairs to order a bath and breakfast for his wife when she should arise. After he had breakfasted himself, he asked for pen and ink to compose a letter to Milah.

_Madame,_

_Because of recent events, I will be unable to call upon you or meet with you for the foreseeable future. I will be engaged on a long overdue tour and reorganization of the royal lands at the behest of the King. _

_Sincerely,_

_K_

He read the letter over a few times before sealing it and summoning a messenger to deliver it to the Countess of Chartwell. He hadn't been sure what to say or how to handle Milah in light of the precarious relationship he had with Emma. He was also very fearful that informing Milah flatly that he was breaking off their affair in order to have a second chance with his bride would send her into a mad rage with unpredictable consequences. He didn't know what Milah might say or do. She was volatile and cunning, and he couldn't risk her creating a firestorm. And, technically, he hadn't broken his oath to Milah – yet. There was no need to tell her that he had every intention of breaking his promise to her and bedding his wife – bedding her repeatedly and enthusiastically – should Emma relent and allow him his conjugal rights. Besides those very important considerations, a letter could be intercepted or read by others. He felt he had no choice but to keep the wording ambiguous to avoid any trouble from Milah,, or anyone else if he could.

He felt relieved when he had sent off the letter and was just about to return to the room upstairs to see Emma when Graham appeared, yawning, but otherwise looking very vigorous and none the worse for wear.

"So, Killian," he said, "was it everything you hoped it would be?" Graham said, his tone deliberately light, but probing for information all the same.

Killian sighed as if he were the most sated man imaginable. "A gentleman never tells, but suffice it to say, she awoke in my arms," he said truthfully.

Disconcerted, Graham studied him suspiciously. "What's this, then? She actually decided to give you a second chance?" His voice was skeptical. "What's Milah going to say?"

"I've just written Milah to tell her I won't be able to see her," Killian said, his face set. "I've asked Emma to give our marriage another chance and she's consented."

Graham exhaled audibly, visibly vexed. "How now, Killian? One minute you're telling me that you've made a sacred oath to Milah and you're fucking that whore before the very eyes of your wife. Now you say she's given you a second chance? Why? Why would she do that? And what changed your mind?"

Killian gave his lifelong friend a long, pensive look before answering. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You told me I was fool. Maybe I've realized that. And maybe she still has feelings enough – and faith enough – for me to be the husband she deserves."

"What will you do now?" Graham asked, his face still skeptical.

"Today we go to Aynsford House, the royal estate here. I've some administrative business to attend to, and then we'll continue our tour of the crown lands. It's time I returned to my duties, and I want my wife to be by my side," Killian said, leaning back in his chair. "You're not invited."

After giving him a long, appraising look, Graham's face softened and he clapped a hand on Killian's shoulder. "You know I love you as a brother, as I did Liam. But I don't want you to hurt her. Promise me?"

"I promise," Killian said, hoping to heal the breach that had opened between them.

"Because if you hurt her or play false with her, I can promise you I'll not stand for it," Graham said, his voice low and serious, his face tense.

Now it was Killian's turn to be angry. "May I remind you, sir, that she is _my _wife, not yours, and I intend to treat her as such, in every sense of the word."

Graham abruptly stood, his chair scraping harshly against the worn wood beneath, and gave him a brief, perfunctory bow. "Then I shall take my leave of you. Pray give my regards to your good Lady. Apologize to her that I did not take my leave of her personally, but was called away abruptly on urgent business." He strode quickly from the room, leaving Killian alone with Emma at last.

When Emma awoke later that morning, she stretched luxuriously, feeling remarkably content. Remembering her erotic dream, she blushed again when she realized she must have climaxed in her sleep. She wondered if Killian had noticed. If he had, he'd thankfully been too gentlemanly to mention it. She supposed it was hardly a surprise she would have such a dream; she'd certainly been aroused enough the previous evening. She couldn't remember all the details of her dream, but she remembered enough to know that involved letting Killian have what he wanted. Well, what they both had wanted, really. She vividly remembered the sensation of wanting to cling to him, wrap herself around him and take him into her body. Feeling like it was almost real. And she had enjoyed the sensation of waking in his arms. It had made her feel secure and protected.

She got up and sleepily walked to the dressing table to sit down and inspect herself in the mirror. She smiled dreamily when she remembered the soothing sensation of Killian brushing her hair, and how tenderly and respectfully he had undressed her and tucked her into bed. She thought she could learn to love that man.

Suddenly she sat forward and peered more closely into the mirror. What in God's name was that? There was a trail of black and blue bruises down her neck! Remembering his lips and teeth biting and sucking on the flesh there last night, she realized he had left the marks. She hadn't realized that it would leave marks, but then there was quite a lot she didn't know about the details of intimate relations between men and women. She pulled her hair down on that side of her neck, embarrassed.

Later on, after she had eaten and bathed in the copper tub the servants had brought, she dressed in her riding clothes and tied a black band around the collar to hold it up, covering the marks. When she saw Killian later, he said nothing, just reached up and ran his hand lightly along the band, smirking slightly. When she blushed, he smiled a little and chucked her under the chin. "You're adorable when you're embarrassed," he murmured.

A few hours later, Killian and Emma, after having visited the injured men and their families to assess their recoveries and wish them well, mounted their horses and rode off towards Aynsford House. Along their way, they called in at several of the farmsteads. Killian walked the muddy fields and discussed crop yields, crop rotations, labor issues, and various other matters of farm business, doing more listening than talking. Emma visited with the women and children, admired the new babies, and learned about local gossip and parochial concerns. Sometimes the women were more forthcoming about pressing issues than the men, who were sometimes too proud or too deferential to complain to the Prince.

Riding away from the last of their visits, Killian asked her about her impressions. Emma considered for a moment before answering.

"On the whole, very prosperous, and all of them feel richer as a result of the land reforms you instituted five years ago," she explained. "Support for the monarchy and the reforms are strong. But there's a problem brewing in this valley with riparian rights."

Killian smiled at her, startled. "And what does a lovely lass like you know about matters such as 'riparian rights'"?

She gave him an arch look. "Enough to know that the Duke of Moreston is constructing a dam upstream and is planning to divert a large amount of water to his own holdings north of of the valley. People here are worried about the downstream effects, whether there will be enough water to irrigate their own lands, especially during the dry seasons."

He frowned at her words. "Well, I'll be damned. I know he didn't seek permission to build it, and as it will affect crown lands, it's illegal." He wondered what other depredations and devilry the barons had got up to while his father had been shut away in the library and he'd been disporting himself in the taverns. It would have to be dealt with forcefully. He needed to write letters as soon as they arrived at the manor to the Duke, the local sheriff, and the Chancery to initiate negotiations and, if all else failed, legal proceedings.

"It would be preferable to reach an accord with him," Emma said thoughtfully, "after all, upstream users do have rights to reasonable use of the river as well. I'm wondering if part of the agreement could include institution of land reforms in the Duke's realm similar to those you've instituted here. What do you think?"

He thought she was bloody brilliant, that's what he thought. "That's an excellent idea. It shall be done as you suggest," he said. "What a shrewd little politician you are! I must remember to consult you the next time we negotiate a treating with a neighboring kingdom. Riparian rights, indeed…." He laughed ruefully.

Emma smiled, enjoying his praise and the openly admiring look her husband gave her. Although it gratified her to feel that, finally, he admired her beauty and wanted her physically, it pleased her even more to know he respected and admired her intellect and abilities.

The weeks and months that followed brought daily opportunities for them to work closely together. Killian found that he relied more and more on Emma's good sense and judgment. She often attended meetings with local gentry and nobility as well as his almost daily meetings with the estate managers, first of the western crown lands, and then the eastern, when they had moved on.

Killian was particularly busy once they reached the east, for he now began the daunting process of dividing the lands among the tenants in a fair manner, and cajoling the local gentry to accept the new order of things. He spent hours pouring over maps, debating the merits of various proposals for the division into parcels, and more hours pouring over the account books.

On more than one night, Emma had awakened and gone downstairs to find him slumped over his desk asleep, his head lying on one arm while his other hand still clutched a quill. She would gently wake him by massaging the tense cords of his neck and shoulders, then help him upstairs to bed. Sometimes, she wouldn't go back to her room, but would climb into his bed with him. He would be apparently comatose, and she would feel it was safe to curl up against his body and sometimes trace her fingers along the planes of his face and downward to the soft matted hair of his chest. By the time he awoke the next morning, she would have slipped away, and he often woke wondering if she had truly visited him in the night, or if he had merely dreamed it.

Despite her occasional, secret visits while he slumbered, their marriage remained unconsummated, and they had resumed the normal aristocratic practice of separate bedchambers after their fateful night at the inn above the tavern. The first night at Aynsford House, Killian had tried to persuade her to let him share her bed again. He'd promised her solemnly that he would only sleep beside her, and would not subject her to any unwelcome advances until she had made it clear she was ready.

Emma, however, was implacable on this. Every few nights, he would plead with her but she remained obstinate. She would allow him, however, to kiss her goodnight before she retired. At first she permitted only a chaste kiss on the cheek, but soon enough she let him brush her lips. One night, Killian experimentally ran his tongue along the seam of her closed lips. To his surprise, she parted her lips and permitted him to taste her. Inevitably, their kisses deepened and after several months had passed, they were engaging in prolonged sessions of passionate kissing and embracing outside her door.

"Please, Emma, stop torturing me like this!" he whispered hoarsely as he kissed her neck, thrown back to grant him access. "Let me stay with you tonight, my sweetheart."

She pulled away. "I can't," she said in a shaky voice. "Not yet."

"Please, Emma, if you're not sure of me yet, we don't have to do anything but sleep. Can't you trust me even a little, just for this?" he wheedled, his eyes filled with longing and desire.

Eyeing his straining cock through his breeches, Emma shook her head. "No, I don't think I can trust you, but that's not the reason. It's that I can't trust myself to resist you any longer."

In a flash, she had slipped into her bedroom and shot home the bolt.

He sighed heavily and slammed his forehead against the bolted door. She was driving him insane.

Emma got into bed that night with mixed feelings. There was no denying she desired him intensely, dreaming of him nearly every night. But her feelings towards him were completely different from what they had been when they had been first married. Then, she had fancied herself madly in love with Killian, but she realized long ago that it was an idealized version of him, a projection of her own naïve and girlish imagination. She hadn't been in love with the real man, she had been in love with her own fantasy of him. It had taken the horrendous incident with Milah to open her eyes to the fact that not only did her husband have a mistress, but that she, Emma, had never even been in love. Not with him, not with anyone.

But now everything had changed. In the months they'd spent together, riding through the realm, reorganizing the crown estates, and engaging in royal duties, she'd finally had a chance to get to know the real man she had married.

Reengaging with his people and with his duties had brought out the best in Killian. He had shown kindness and genuine concern for his tenants and their families. When relaxed among the common people, he had a ready smile and an encouraging word for everyone, from the smallest children to the village elders. He had proven himself singularly devoted to the dry administrative matters required to reorganize the governance of his lands as well as the kingdom at large. His intellect was formidable, and he possessed a certain cunning and common sense she never would have expected under the bored, aristocratic hauteur he'd affected when she first met him.

She watched him with especial amazement as he heard petitions and appeals from the local people in their disputes with one another and crown officials. She sat beside him for hours as he listened patiently to the squabbling parties, then handed down and explained his decisions.

In one case, a peasant whose donkey had been killed by a merchant's wagon sought payment for the cost of the lost animal. The wagon driver argued that it was the peasant's own fault for leaving his fettered animal standing in the roadway. Killian agreed that while it was indeed careless to leave the animal there, the driver should still pay for the donkey because he had had the last clear chance to avoid the accident by driving his wagon more slowly and carefully through the crowded roadway.

In another, a miller sought money damages from a blacksmith who had failed as he had promised to repair a damaged mill shaft. The miller argued that the blacksmith should have to pay not only for a new mill shaft, but for the profits he had lost because his mill couldn't be operated without a shaft. Killian ordered the blacksmith to pay for a new mill shaft, but nothing else.

Emma was surprised until Killian explained to the outraged miller that the miller couldn't just sit on his hands and wait for the blacksmith. Even if the smith had broken his contract, the miller had a duty to find another mill shaft or subcontract out the mill work to mitigate the harm. The miller's intransigeance had multipled the harm caused by the original breach by the blacksmith, and that was his own fault.

Over dinner, he would explain his reasoning in greater detail as well as his general philosophy behind his legal decisions. "The point is to encourage people to behave as responsibly and carefully as possible, and to create incentives to reduce the harm that comes when people make mistakes or break their promises, as inevitably happens in human and commercial enterprises."

"Makes sense," Emma nodded. "But what happens when you can't personally hear every petition?"

He sighed. "It's long past time that we relieve the burden on the crown and the local magistrates by organizing a system of circuit judges to visit towns and villages in their areas and hear appeals from the magistrates' court."

"I'll add it to the list," she said wryly, "but you're taking on an awful lot. Administrative reform, legal reform, military reform, economic reform, how can you do it all?"

"The best I can," he said soberly. Then he reached across the table and took her hand in his. "And with your help." Emma clasped his hand in return, her eyes shining at him.

As she suspected, she and Killian made a formidable team, and worked well together. And she enjoyed working with him more than she could ever have imagined. She also noticed that despite the intense pace and many competing demands, he seemed lighter, more invigorated than previously. He seemed to awake eager to take on the challenges of the day, to enjoy feeling useful and appreciated by his people. His life of drinking, gambling, and debauchery had been meaningless. Now his life, his decisions, were making an actual difference in the daily lives of real people who depended upon his wisdom and justice.

She realized that she was falling in love with Killian, the real man this time. Riparian rights, land reform, and legal disputes might not be the stuff of romance. But it might just be the basis of true and lasting love.

Initially dragged kicking and screaming into his marriage, Killian now was way ahead of her. She had been the single motivating force that had forced him to rediscover purpose and meaning for his life. Her encouragement and belief in him had helped him renew his confidence. And for the first time in his life, he thought he might just be a worthy successor to his father.

He thought ruefully of the advice his father had given him when he had agreed to marry Emma. "Killian," the old man had said, "I can assure you, choice of wife determines a man's destiny. It's absolutely crucial in forging the man that you will become and the path you will choose in life. She can make you, or she can break you."

He was beginning to understand how true that was. His life with Emma was totally different from his life with Milah, and he found he liked it, for he now liked himself a lot more than he could have envisioned or even believed possible. He felt like his mother and his brother would approve of him now.

Another surprise was the feeling of support and connection with her, mentally and emotionally. He'd never had sisters, and had grown up surrounded by boys and men. He'd never had a female friend. As much as he wanted her for his lover, he liked the feeling of having Emma as his friend, and he felt that she wouldn't let him down in times of trouble. He and Milah had been many things, but "friends" was not one of them. Most of the time, Milah had been a complete enigma to him, and he now realized he'd spent a good deal of time simply trying to placate her moods and appease her capricious demands and tempers.

Killian knew he had fallen hopelessly, desperately, in love with his wife. But their living situation was slowly driving him mad.

In addition to their other public duties, attendance at balls, dinners and other entertainments was a regular feature of their life. Every noble and other suitably exalted personage wished to honor their visit and they rarely dined alone.

As much as Killian enjoyed talking with Emma for hours over a quiet dinner with just the two of them, he found many reasons to enjoy attending balls and country dances with her.

He adored seeing her beautifully dressed in her finery, the most beautiful woman in the land. He felt proud to show her off, not only for her beauty for her wit and intelligence as well, and, unlike their first months together, he greatly enjoyed the envious stares of the other men.

Most important, he appreciated the opportunity such occasions gave him to touch her and hold her. He liked the feeling of her arm tucked under his as he escorted her through a ballroom or into dinner. And he loved dancing with her, especially the waltz, as it permitted him to hold her close against his body for long stretches of time. He hated the fact that courtesy demanded that both of them dance with others, including the host and hostess. He rarely left her side if he could help him, and his eyes constantly sought her. He made her laugh by flirting with her and telling her funny stories about the various characters in attendance at the fete.

"See the bishop over there," he leaned over and whispered to Emma at one fete, "He's famous for being able to say a flawless, word perfect Mass while completely blind drunk."

Emma giggled a little in response as she took in the very distinguished and august figure of the bishop across the room. "Naughty," she said, rapping his arm lightly with her fan and giving him a flirtatious look through her lashes.

"Over there is the Marquess of Ponsonby and his wife. He enjoys dressing up in the Marchioness' clothing when they are alone at home."

Emma gave him a shocked expression and nearly burst out laughing. "No! Are they very unhappy?"

"Assuredly no, it's widely known they are among the most devoted of married couples among the nobility," he replied, smirking a little.

"Just so long as I don't catch you rooting through my corset drawer," she teased him.

"I'll ask permission first," he promised insouciantly, leaning over to nuzzle her hair with his nose.

His open adoration of Emma was noticed and remarked upon by everyone. All who met them commented on how smitten, no besotted, he appeared to be. For those in the know, the turn of events was especially surprising and titillating, and the stories and gossip spread across the land and to the capital. They reached the ears of the King, who smiled broadly. And they reached the ears of the Countess of Chartwell, who was not so pleased. She flew into a temper and the boxed the ears of the nearest hapless servant.

After one particularly glittering evening, shortly before the Prince and Princess were due to return to court to visit the King, Killian asked Emma to step out on the terrace of their manor house before they retired. It was a beautiful, clear spring evening, and he wanted to take a few moments to enjoy the peace of the countryside, and the warm fresh night air, before departing to the noisome capital city.

"Have you ever seen a more beautiful full moon?" she marveled, tilting her face toward the night sky. The moon shimmered and reflected in the lake just beyond the lawn.

"It's beautiful, "he agreed, stealing an arm around her waist to pull her closer. "But even the moon must envy the beauty of the woman beside me."

Emma relaxed and leaned her head against his shoulder, wholly content and happy. She had made up her mind, finally, and she didn't want to wait any longer. She was ready to trust him. She wanted to consummate her marriage and be tied to him forever. She turned into him and put her arms around his neck, pulling his face towards hers and parting her lips for his kiss. She sighed as his arms went around her and he pulled her into his hard chest for a passionate, consuming kiss. She held nothing back, straining against him, encouraging him to take more from her.

"Killian," she gasped, nearly breathless with desire, her hair tumbling from the elaborate arrangement she'd worn at the ball, her lips kiss-bruised and her eyes huge, "I want you to…"

But before she could finish the sentence, they were interrupted by a liveried courier who burst out onto the terrace waving a piece of rolled up parchment.

"Your Royal Highness, I beg you to forgive this intrusion but the matter is urgent," the young courier was out of breath from exertion, gesturing wildly. "The Northern Barbarians have invaded the Kingdom again and are laying siege to the border towns and several of the royal forts on the frontier. It's serious. The Commander of the Garrison at Castle Borgholm begs you to summon the lords and their liege man to come to their aid."

"Bloody hell!" Killian swore, taking the parchment, broke the seal, and read it. He rolled it up again, cursed one more time, and summoned the Steward. "Take this man and give him some refereshment. Send out couriers to every noble and knight within a two hour ride from here with the call to arms. Summon the captain of my guard and send him to me at once. And tell the stable hands to have the horses ready to ride at first light."

He turned back to Emma, his face anxious. "I'm sorry, darling, for swearing like that in front of you. I'll need to leave you now, though, to write letters summoning the rest of the nobles and informing my Father about what's happened. Then I'll meet with the captain of the guard and we'll need to marshal all the men-at-arms in the immediate area and lay preliminary battle plans to relieve the siege." He took her hands in his.

She had smiled internally at his exquisite sensitivity in apologizing for his swearing at a time like this, but now her face was as anxious as his. "Are you leaving then? Will you fight too?"

"Yes, darling, I must lead the men. It's my duty, and if there's one thing I've learned from you, there's no running away from it," he grinned at her and tweaked her nose, hoping to relieve the tension.

"Then I'm going with you," Emma said, her voice determined, turning to go inside the house to ready herself.

He caught her by the arm and turned her back to him. "No, you most certainly won't." His words were firm, but gentle. "It's too dangerous."

She gave him a mutinous look, but he stilled her with a raised hand. "We'll have to leave in the morning. I'll ask you to gather supplies and follow with a larger retinue in a few days time – but you will go to Castle Borgholm and you will remain there until I return. It will be safe enough there, and that's where we'll send the wounded if possible. You could be of great service. Can you live with that?"

She smiled up at him. He'd negotiated the situation skillfully. She'd be closer to him than here, but she'd be safe and she could assist in the war effort rather than spend her days fretting and useless. "Always the diplomat," she teased him, taking his arm. "I accept your terms."

They walked arm in arm into the manor house, where Killian made for his study to write letters and conduct meetings and Emma summoned the housekeeper to arrange for a steady stream of refreshments for her husband and his guests. Then she rang for his valet to prepare the Prince's belongings for the sudden journey.

They were both up all night. When first light came, Killian and a now large party of mounted men were readying themselves in the courtyard. Emma stood beside him, already beside herself with worry.

He pulled her to him and she put her hands against his chest. "Killian," she said, her face anxious as she looked at him, "You'll be careful, won't you? You won't try to do anything impossibly brave or foolish, will you?"

"Why, darling, of course I will! How else am I to prove myself a worthy hero for a beautiful Princess like yourself?" he smiled down at her, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.

"Don't tease me, I'm afraid for you," she said, quietly, her brow furrowed. "And Killian, I want you to know that…that before this happened last night, I wanted to…I was going to…"

"I know, darling, oh how well I know what I missed last night…" he whispered in her ear, his low, throaty voice in her ear thrilling her and causing her belly to clench with anticipation and desire. "But honestly, could your timing be any worse? The irony of being killed in battle on the very eve I was to – finally – consummate my marriage. It's too delicious." He was teasing her again, but the truth behind his bravado pierced her heart and she let out a little sob and put her head against his chest.

"There, there, don't cry, my sweetheart! I was only teasing – nothing will happen to me. You know if nothing else, I'm a survivor, don't you?" he tilted her head up at him, his face reassuring, his voice soothing.

She took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. He kissed her, then swung himself up onto his horse and prepared to depart.

He'd only trotted a few feet when Emma ran after him. "Promise me! Promise me, Killian!" she cried.

She put her arms up to him and he leaned down low from the saddle to sweep her up towards him with his strong arms, crushing her lips to his and giving her one last, lingering, heated kiss full of desire and promise. "I promise, Emma, I will return to you if I have to fight my way through gates of fire to do it!"

He let her go then, and she stood forlorn and still, nearly stunned senseless by the fire of his kiss and the passion of his promise to her. As the armed company approached the courtyard gates, he turned to give her one last look, a devilish grin and a wink of his eye to try to cheer her up. He was devastatingly, heartbreakingly handsome.

And then she was alone.

**I treasure your reviews, comments, and PMs.**


	10. Chapter 9

**_Previously, in Saving Prince Killian..._**

**_After spending many months living and working side by side, Prince Killian and Princess Emma have truly, madly and deeply fallen in love despite the obstacles that have barred their path to one another. Just when Emma has decided that she can trust her husband enough to consummate her marriage at last, he is called away to war on the very night she has decided to open her heart and body completely to him and invite him share her bed. The marriage remains, alas, unconsummated with shattering implications in the face of a new peril_**

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

A few weeks later, Emma found herself working long hours as Castle Borgholm became both a hospital for the wounded and a center of strategic operations for the King's Army and the companies of all the highest nobles of the land.

"Good God, I'm exhausted," she sighed, sinking down in a chair after a long day of tending to a fresh influx of bloody, broken men. Her dress was torn, her hair disheveled and she had bloodstains all over her skirt and smudges across her forehead. She gratefully accepted a mug of water from the hand of Lady Ruby Hunt, Graham's younger sister. Ruby had journeyed to Castle Borgholm for the same reason as Emma: a sense of obligation to support the war effort as well as concern for her brother and her fiancé, Lord Willoughby, both of whom were involved in the fighting.

She and Ruby, a stunningly beautiful brunette, had become fast friends and co-conspirators. They had not only organized a makeshift hospital but had also involved themselves in planning and requisitioning food and other supplies vital to keep an army healthy and well fed. The commanders at first grumbled at their perceived interference, but ultimately their determination and implacability had worn down the initial resistance.

Fortunately, the news from the front had been generally positive. Led by the Prince, the army had systematically swept through the besieged towns and villages and gradually pushed the foreign invaders back across their own borders. Emma and Ruby had been elated initially to hear that the raiders had been beaten back, only to learn shortly afterward that the Prince had decided to press his advantage and resolve the continual threat posed by the Northern Kingdom once and for all.

As much as she tried not to worry and keep her mind focused on the many many daily challenges she faced, she had trouble sleeping and was beside herself with fear. She spent hours on her knees before she finally allowed her weary body to take any rest, praying for the success of the war, the safety of the men, the consolation of their families, but most of all, to spare Killian's life.

She was filled with regret, too, that she might have missed her chance, forever, to have lain intimately with him as a true wife. Sometimes she felt furious with him for having married her under false pretenses, for having been so weak and foolish as to fancy himself in love with a woman like Milah in the first place. Sometimes she felt like she wanted to kill Milah too, hating the woman who had corrupted his heart before Emma ever had a chance to touch it. The woman who had tried to destroy what little chance she and Killian might have had to find each other and make their marriage a success despite his prior involvement with her by means of the malevolent stunt she had pulled the night of the Grande Ball. She hated herself for having continued to hold him at arms length because she'd been too afraid to trust him not to betray her again with Milah, when her own heart had whispered to her that it was she, Emma, who ruled his heart now. She deeply mourned the passionate nights they could have spent together, the intimate and consoling memories that would have sustained them both, he in battle, she waiting anxiously for him.

Her remorse bloomed into a full blown sense of guilt when she realized that if Killian were killed, her own personal sorrow and broken heart would be only one tiny component of the shattering consequences for the Kingdom as a whole. The combined mistrust and folly she and Killian shared that had led to an unconsummated marriage also meant that he'd left no child in her belly to inherit the crown if Killian should fall in battle. In addition to the lifelong personal sorrow she would feel with no small piece of him left to her to provide joy and comfort, there were major political ramifications.

Although the King had already named his nephew Roland as the second in line for the throne, Roland was but a child, and far from the only royal relative with a blood based claim to the throne. Some of those potential claimants were powerful barons with armies at their back. The minute Killian died, they would circle like sharks smelling blood in the water. She would sink into an uneasy sleep, tormented with visions of her beloved covered in blood, dying in her arms, as she wept at her inability to help him.

Matters were not improved a few days later when rumors began to percolate that a huge battle had begun about a week after the Prince and his army had moved across the border. She and Ruby clung to each other, wordless prayers forming on their lips and terror in their eyes. The entire castle seemed subdued, waiting with baited breath for news of the outcome.

She was sitting by a dying soldier one day, writing as he haltingly dictated last letters to his mother and his sweetheart. Every once and a while, Emma would get up, remove the cool cloth from his head, and then go to the basin to freshen it and replace it on the lad's forehead. He couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen, and had been in service to the Duke of Moreston. They'd tried their best, but his wounds had festered despite their best efforts and it seemed likely he would die soon. Emma tried desperately not to imagine Killian lying somewhere similarly wounded, breathlessly dictating a few last lines to her and his father before he died.

Suddenly, clattering hooves were heard in the courtyard below the guildhall that served as their makeshift infirmary. Shouting was heard, followed by a rising rabble of voices cheering and yelling as people poured into the streets. Emma ran to the window, straining to hear what they were shouting about but could hear nothing coherent. She hoped the generally happy hoots and smiles meant good news.

Ruby burst into the ward and she turned and almost ran toward her friend. "Is there news?" Emma demanded breathlessly.

"Yes it's good news! The most blessed of news…." Ruby was laughing and crying simultaneously, hugging Emma.

"We have been victorious then?" Emma pressed, returning the hug fervently but still madly curious to know what had happened and, most importantly, was the Prince safe?

The messenger who had thundered into the courtyard below a short time ago now entered the room, located the Princess, and hurried to her. He bowed and fell to his knees.

"Yes, your highness. The Prince has won a famous victory and totally routed the enemy and taken their capital city. I am sent by His Highness the Crown Prince to give you this message personally," he was out of breath as he handed her a sealed parchment letter.

Immediately recognizing Killian's seal, she tore it open and eagerly read the letter. It appeared to have been hastily scrawled while he was on the move.

_My darling sweetheart,_

_I am alive and unharmed for the present, thanks be to God. God has been good and not only spared my life, but has granted a famous and total victory over the barbarian enemy. However, the wicked King that has been the instigator of so much of our torment these many years has escaped to a near impregnable fastness further north to rally his forces and I cannot rest until he has been captured and killed, and our enemies destroyed so they can harm us no more. I will not conceal from you that this will be exceedingly perilous as I will be leaving the mass of my army behind._

_Emma, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love and duty to my Kingdom comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.__The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me that I shall return to you unharmed. If I do not my dear Emma, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness._

_Emma, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again._

_All my love,_

_Killian_

As she read the letter, her initial smile of joy and relief turned to tears, and Emma wept as she read the letter, then clutched it to her breast, sobbing.

"Emma! He's alive! My brother and my fiancé are alive as well, and we have won! Why ever are you crying?" Ruby asked, rubbing her back and clucking over her like a Mother Hen.

"He's doing something impossibly brave and foolish," Emma gasped out between sobs, "Even though I begged him to promise me he wouldn't…" She collapsed into Ruby's arms, filled with dread.

As her sobs subsided into soft hiccups, Ruby turned back to the messenger, who looked traumatized by the reaction of the Princess to the letter. He'd imagined she'd have been elated to learn of the victory and the safety of her Prince. "What happened in the battle?"

She demanded.

"The barbarians turned and dug in to occupy the high ground just across the border. The Prince tried to give battle several times but they refused to budge. Then, under cover of night, the Prince moved part of his army through the marshes and mounted a surprise attack on their left flank. They were indeed surprised and gave ground, but the battle raged all day with brutal hand to hand combat. It looked like it might end in stalemate when the Prince rallied his cavalry and charged directly into the barbarian line from the rear, cutting down everyone in their path."

"I was there," he said proudly, "The nobles were arguing among themselves about what to do to break the stalemate when the Prince, who had been quite calm, suddenly turned and roared out a command. 'When in doubt, attack!' and charged off with his sword raised. The nobles and the rest of the cavalry galloped after him and the next thing we knew the barbarians panicked and started to drop their swords and shields and run for their lives. After that it was just a mop-up operation," the messenger said, wiping his sweat from his brow.

"What happened then?" Ruby pressed, shushing Emma, who had composed herself sufficiently to listen to the messenger's tale.

"We followed them and entered the capital city without any further resistance. But the King and a few of his most loyal troops escaped as we approached and retreated to what they believe to be an impregnable fortified position in the mountains to the north," the messenger explained. "The Prince left the bulk of the army to secure the capital and pacify the surrounding countryside. Then he chose a small company of his best fighters – all of whom volunteered – to follow the enemy King and capture or kill him. He told them it might be a suicide mission, but none flagged, and swore that it would be their honor to die in battle beside their Prince. Before he left, he wrote the letter and sent for me to bring it you, Your Royal Highness," he bobbed his head.

Ruby's face changed from one of wonder and elation to concern, as she now comprehended Emma's distress. She tried to tamp down her own selfish but wholly understandable fears that her brother and sweetheart might be among those who volunteered.

She led the messenger away to find him food and drink after his long, hard ride. "Tell me," she whispered, "Is Viscount Hunt or Lord Willoughby among the Prince's company?"

The messenger shook his head. "No, lady, he asked Lord Willoughby to organize governance of the conquered areas and he dispatched your lord brother back to the King to confer with him about the King's wishes for the future of the Northern Kingdom, an outcome that may depend partly on whether the Prince succeeds in his mission."

They left Emma standing pensively by the window, her face stony.

As another few weeks slipped away, Emma tried to remain hopeful, but the nature of the Prince's mission was such that no regular dispatches could return to report to the Castle commanders with news. She had no idea where he was, or even if he were dead or alive.

She kept reasonably busy as a steady stream of soldiers released from further service began to stream into the Castle for a meal and a warm place to sleep prior to making their way home.

It was from one of them that the first, horrible rumors came. Taking a long appreciative drink of ale offered to him by Ruby, the man looked pale and half-starved. The winters in the Northern Kingdom were bitter and cruel, and often the numbing cold and howling snow could defeat an invading army even in the absence of human resistance.

"What news of the Prince and the Barbarian King?" Ruby asked him gently. Emma looked up, already tense with fear.

Sensing their distress, the man hesitated, looking from one to another.

"Please, sir, even if it is the worst news, it is important for us to know," Emma reassured him, her voice cracking only slightly.

Making up his mind, he gave Emma a compassionate look. "The rumor is that the Prince and his company have been slaughtered in the mountains. I'm sorry, and I pray it is not true and by some miracle they are able to survive both the unrelenting cold of the mountains as well as the attacks of the Barbarian King and his supporters."

"Is there any way to know for sure?" Emma asked, her voice still steady. She felt somehow detached, eerily calm, as if her conscious mind were hovering over the scene in which she found herself, as if she were watching a play.

"Lord Willoughby has sent out many scouting parties. Finally, one returned with news that they had found evidence of a pitched battle. It appears the Prince had been encamped nearby, and there was evidence some sort of engagement had taken place – broken weapons, lost belt buckles, even blood and a few frozen body parts. No intact bodies – it is thought the dead were buried or taken to be exhibited as trophies but no one can be sure at this moment. It is mysterious. From there the trail went cold. It is possible all were killed there."

Emma sank down into a chair, feeling as if a huge weight was bearing down on her chest. She felt like she couldn't breathe, that she was dizzy and might faint. She clasped her hands onto her knees firmly and tried to compose herself.

"Emma, it's not hopeless, they don't know," Ruby said, moving over to put her arms around Emma, rubbing her shoulders and back soothingly.

"I know, I know – we can't lose hope," she tried to give Ruby a faint little smile through her tears. That's what her parents would say, at least. Thinking about their unflagging faith and optimism, she felt strengthened herself. She needed to remain strong and to set an example no matter what happened.

Unfortunately, rumors continued to trickle in that the Prince had met his doom until nearly everyone had begun speaking of him in the past tense. Distraught, Emma had decided to travel to the capital to visit her father-in-law. She'd been corresponding with him regularly, but she feared the blow of losing his only remaining. It could break him.

The old King looked like he had aged another decade when she finally reached journey's end. He nearly wept with relief when he embraced Emma, her mere presence lifting his spirits.

They talked about many things far into the night, including the importance of maintaining hope as well as the ramifications if Killian never returned.

"Emma, dear," the King began, his voice soft and hesitant. "Is there any possibility that you are with child?"

Emma couldn't look at him. "None whatsoever," she said in a bare whisper, looking down at her hands and then reaching up to wipe away a stray tear.

Seeing her distress, the King patted her hands and tutted over her. "I'm so sorry, my dear, both for you and, honestly, for the Kingdom, but you mustn't give in to despair just yet."

Emma couldn't feel better. She felt lost, hopeless and guilty.

That night, after she had fallen into an uneasy sleep, she dreamed of him returning to her. As he approached, she began to run toward him, only to feel that familiar dream paralysis where every step is as if trying to run through a vat of molasses. She awoke with a start, her face damp with perspiration and her heart racing and she slowly realized where she was. And that she was alone. She wasn't sure what, if anything, the dream meant, but she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to return to Castle Borgholm. It was the first place to receive news from beyond the border, and it would be the first place to which he would return, if he ever returned.

Explaining her decision to the King the next morning, he gave her his blessing. "Seeing you has meant everything to me, daughter. You're a great comfort, but I understand. And it will be an important public affirmation of faith that he is not dead. Perhaps that will buy us some time before the vultures begin to circle."

Emma duly returned to the Castle, but as the weeks passed, nothing further was heard. It didn't appear anyone was even looking anymore as Lord Willoughby and the occupation army turned their attention to pacifying the countryside and putting down a plethora of local rebellions.

As time passed, she began to lose hope and began adjusting her mind to accept that he was really not coming back. That he was dead, and she'd have to decide what to do. She'd be the Dowager Princess and it was unclear what that role would entail. Would she stay on to support her father-in-law? Or would she be summoned home to resume living with her parents? Would a new political marriage be negotiated for her, and if so, who would make the decision? Her tired mind went around with circles, her fears like a leaden weight in side her.

Waking one morning, she felt utterly claustrophic remaining in the castle walls a single moment further. To lift her spirits, she decided to take a walk in the meadows now blooming with the onset of spring that lay outside the castle walls. Wrapping a shawl around herself against the light chill in the spring sunshine, she wandered through the fields and meadows, taking deep breaths of the fresh spring air, warmed by the sun on her face and the scent of new growth all around. Her mind felt clearer and her heart gladdened by the sheer peace and beauty surrounding her. She closed her eyes and imagined for several blissful moments that all was right with the world.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and turned to walk back to the Castle when her eye was caught by something moving far across the field, out on the horizon. As the shape moved closer, she could make out a single rider on a slow moving horse. She sighed, thinking it was probably another half-starved soldier making his way home after the hard winter campaign. She tried not to hope it would be a messenger who would at last bring her definitive news – for good or ill. She needed to know.

She began walking back to the castle again to let them know a hungry soldier might soon be arriving and to prepare some food when she stopped herself, and slowly turned around. There was something about the figure of the rider and the way he sat his saddle that seemed familiar. She squinted hard into the sunshine, straining to see him as came into view.

Oh my God, she said, it can't possibly be….can it? Wouldn't she have gotten word if he were truly safe and en route to return to her? She couldn't dare let herself hope, only to be disappointed. She closed her eyes and shook her head a few times, trying to clear her mind from the possibility of a mirage based on false hope and an overactive imagination. Her heart in her throat, she laid a hand on her breast and tried to slow her breathing.

As she watched, she saw the horse lurch and stumble. Horse and rider stopped and the rider heaved himself off and began to lead the poor beast instead. And when she saw his walk, and caught sight of his disheveled black hair, she knew he was no illusion.

She began to run as fast as her skirts would allow her toward the still distant figure, her blonde tresses streaming wildly behind her like banners in the sunlight. She was not even conscious of the tremendous exertion so focused was she on her target. She couldn't even hear her own voice screaming his name.

Then, the tired, dirty and disheveled solder caught sight of her running towards him and heard her frantic shouts, and suddenly he felt the exhaustion drain away as he dropped the reigns and began to run at speed toward her, their eyes locked together in mutual joy and recognition.

When she reached him, she threw herself into his arms so violently that he nearly lost his balance and toppled over backwards, bringing her along with him. Instead, he took a steadying step back, swept her feet off the ground into a crushing embrace, and swung her around in a joyous burst of exuberance as she buried her face in his neck and locked her arms around tight around his neck. He could feel the tears of joy and relief from her eyes wet against his skin. She could feel the scratch of his now much fuller beard and hear him murmuring ardent words of love as she sobbed out "I thought you were dead!" over and over.

He set her down, gripped her shoulders and held her in place to gaze upon her face wonderingly. "Let me look at you for a minute, my beautiful girl. I have to reassure myself you're real. I've done nothing for months but dream of this moment. Let me savor you just for a few moments." He felt like he was drowning in her sea green eyes and suddenly all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her.

She returned his rapt gaze, falling in love all over again with his sapphire blue eyes that made her think of the limitless sky. His hair was long and disheveled. He had a terrible slash across one cheek that looked like it would leave a nasty, though perhaps dashing, scar. He was dirty, sweaty, and his clothes were torn, tattered and obviously hadn't been washed in months. His beard desperately needed trimming. Yet he had never looked more handsome to her. Her lingering gaze finally paused to fixate on his full, sensual lips.

He moistened his lips, drinking in the sight of her as her lips parted and her head tilted toward him as she raised herself on tiptoe to feel his lips close on hers, his tongue roughly probing as hers pushed against him and twisted to taste him. He wound her hair around his fist and held her fiercely as she pressed her palms against his chest and inhaled his rough masculine smell of blood, sweat, and violence. She felt lightheaded from the heat of his body and the passionate intensity of his kisses.

"How is it you're alive?" she whispered, as they broke away for a few moments and she reached up to caress his face.

"Long story, darling," smiling down at her as he cupped her chin. "I'll tell you everything while we're walking back to the Castle. I need a hot bath and then I need to make love to you – immediately and many, many times."

She blushed and smiled at that, causing his heart to nearly burst with a bewildering combination of tenderness and lust.

Then her expression turned serious and she locked her arms around his neck. "No," she said firmly.

Oh God, he thought to himself, a bolt of alarm coursing through him. She can't be denying me again! Not after everything he'd been through to get back to her. Not after the way she had looked at him, the burning desire of her kisses, could she?

Seeing his face fall, Emma laughed, "I don't mean it that way! I mean no, _now_. I want you to make love to me _right now._"

"Emma, you can't be serious. I haven't bathed in a week. I'm dirty and I smell. We're in the middle of an open field…." He trailed off, bewildered as she jutted her chin out in the stubborn way she did when she was set on a particular course. He knew that look too well.

"Killian, I've been in hell waiting for you these months, thinking you were dead, that I would never see you again. I regretted….so much," her voice was stricken, ragged. "Don't you _want_ me?" This last in an intimate whisper that he found unbearably sexy.

He laughed at her, then, taking her hand from his face and boldly placing it against his the hardness in his trousers. As he pressed her hand against him, she almost yelped in surprise as she felt his cock jump and become even larger and harder beneath her touch.

"I think that should answer your question, beautiful," he said in a husky voice as he pulled her into another burning kiss and then tumbled them both onto the ground.

So it came to be that, at long last, the Crown Prince and his Princess consummated their royal marriage not in an elaborate carved and gilt bed enveloped in silk and satin, but pressed into the soft fragrant earth surrounded by the buzz of insects and the occasional cry of a bird.

She loved the fact that he was unwashed and his natural masculine scent only excited her passions further. She kissed and licked his neck and chest, caring nothing for the dirt but reveling in his salty taste.

He was nearly insane with pent up longing and desire for her and it was all he could do to restrain himself from throwing up her skirt, pulling out his painfully hard cock, and slamming into her like an animal. He did his best to be gentle, remembering she was a virgin and wanting desperately for it to be as good as possible under less than ideal circumstances. In his imaginings of this moment, he would take his time with her, linger over her body like a sensual feast, teasing her with his lips, teeth and tongue, prolonging their mutual pleasure and building her excitement with finesse and exquisite tenderness.

Instead, they were both so eager and desperate for each other that he quickly found himself yanking down her bodice to tease and lick one nipple as his fingers kneaded her other breast and pinched the nipple. Then he took each nipple in his mouth and sucked hard, milking them, and occasionally grazing them with his teeth as she writhed and moaned with pleasure beneath him. Occasionally she would cry out a little when he bit her too hard, then shudder and moan with pleasure, driving him wild with arousal. God, how he had longed to feel her perfect breasts and pert nipples beneath his hands and mouth, her hands pressing his head against her, urging him on as she panted beneath him.

The sensations he aroused in her as he devoured her breasts seemed to shoot an electric current directly to her core and she felt herself clenching with need and rolling her hips up to grind against him. She loved the occasional sharp pain that shot through her like an arrow when he sucked or bit her too roughly, only to feel her pleasure heightened as his soft warm tongue would soothe the inflamed tissue. Her face flushed and she felt hot despite the coldness of the earth against her back and she could feel herself becoming wetter. Her core ached to be filled, her need to be touched, possessed, and devoured by him unquenchable. She didn't want him to be gentle. She needed to feel his body hard against her, his hands gripping her tightly.

"Please touch me," she whispered, capturing and pushing his hand between her legs as her thighs fell open, inviting him in.

He almost came right then.

He pulled back a little, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before pulling away slightly, pulling up her skirt, and nearly tearing off her pantalettes.

"Why must women wear such complicated garments?" he complained, struggling to free her.

She giggled then. "Why, what kind of garments would you prefer, my lord?" She reached down to help him.

"For you, my goddess, nothing. I'd prefer you never wore anything," he confessed.

"What would people say?" she teased, flirtatiously.

"Nothing," he growled as he reached between her freed legs at last. "I'd keep you chained to my bed and never let you out – oh bloody Christ…." He ran his fingers through her slick, swollen skin, surprised by just how wet and aroused she was.

The combination of the mental image he created of her chained to his bed as he ravished her over and over and the first touch of his hand on her sex caused her to rocket her hips into his hand as if she'd been set on fire. She felt like her body was in flames and if he didn't fill her she would explode.

All it took was for Killian to gently rub what he thought of as the "Emma Button" with his thumb while pushing two fingers slowly into her to cause her to fall apart, legs trembling, body quaking as waves of shuddering pleasure coursed through her. He could feel her core clamping down around his fingers, spasms of pleasure that seemed to run directly from his fingers sunk deep into her warmth to his straining, needy cock

He didn't hesitate. He spread her open, climbed between her creamy, supple thighs, and rubbed the swollen, throbbing head of his cock against her drenched, gorgeous cunt as she continued to moan and rut against him, begging him to fill her. Clenching his jaw to maintain his discipline, he slowly, inexorably pushed into her hot, wet core.

She gasped and moaned as he filled her, eyes widening as he watched her, his eyes black with lust. She rolled her hips up and wrapped her legs around his waste, allowing him to plunge more deeply into her, screaming as he sank himself into her, buried to the hilt in her tight, silky warmth at last.

"Are you alright, darling? Am I hurting you," he murmured tenderly, stilling himself for a moment.

"I want it to hurt," she panted, her voice a fierce whisper, "I need to feel you, _all _of you, inside me. I need to know I'm pleasuring you, too."

He groaned in response, then began to move in and out, keeping his strokes shallow at first to allow her to accustom herself to the stretch of his size, then began to pick up speed as he powered into her.

"Harder," she whispered, driving him into a frenzy and he rutted against her in the field like two animals in heat.

Knowing he couldn't control himself much longer, he reached between them to gently caress her swollen nub. She seemed shocked as she orgasmed again, screaming his name and sobbing with the dizzying sensations that rocked her body and made her see stars and explosions of light as blue as his eyes.

He could feel her supple, strong muscles milking him almost painfully as he filled her in a shuddering, violent orgasm, his cock pulsing over and over as he poured himself into her. "I love you so much, Emma," he rasped, his eyes shut, his face contorted into an ecstatic grimace.

They clung to one another as they came down slowly, Emma letting out startled whimpers every time she felt another unexpected, and unfamiliar, burst of pleasure. She'd had no idea, not even the wildest fantasy, that he could do these things to her body, that the pleasure could be so exquisite as to be nearly painful, and that it could go on and on for so long. She'd known it would feel good, and that he would be a good lover, but she hadn't had a clue, really.

Holding his weight on his elbows, he kissed and nibbled at her neck playfully. "I apologize that your first time wasn't more…romantic," he said bashfully.

Emma was staring off into space, dazed and confused in the aftermath, but his words brought her out of her stupor immediately.

"Stop. Don't apologize or you'll make me angry," she chided softly. " I couldn't have imagined that my first time, and the first time you made love to me, could ever be any more romantic or perfect. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I could feel anything like that. Was it…was I …was it nice for you?" she felt a little anxious, a tinge of jealousy lurking.

He was silent a moment, then bent his head down to capture her lips in his in another, searing kiss. "Emma," he said tenderly, trailing his fingers across her cheek and down her neck. "I promise you I have never felt such heights of pleasure, such perfect fulfillment, as I feel inside your body. I'm afraid it will be difficult for me to ever get enough of you."

He dropped his voice into a threatening growl. "You may not get much sleep."

Emma shivered with delight, slightly flustered when she felt him beginning to grow again inside her.

"You're … becoming aroused again?" she said, eyes wide. "So soon?"

"I warned you," he said, bemused, then rolled them both in the dirt, Emma squealing with delight.

It was some time before the Prince, tired, but sated for the moment, and his beautiful Princess, exhausted, but with a gleam in her eye, triumphantly entered the Castle, to the cheers and shouts of the crowd that gathered quickly as word spread. She clung to his arm, never taking her adoring eyes off her beloved as he graciously acknowledged the greetings and encouragement of the happy populace.

Eventually, he was even able to have his hot bath.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued….<strong>

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